


The Wife, the Dog, and the Kingdom to Boot

by gardakuka



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Additional Warnings In Author's Note, Again Because of Reasons, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Arranged Marriage, Because of Reasons, Being the Heir to the Iron Throne is Suffering, Crack, F/M, First Time, Gregor is Messed Up but Not Like in the Books, Help, I Have No Idea Where I Should Put Capital Letters For The Tags And Where Not, Joffrey is still Joffrey, Jon is Not a Bastard Because of Reasons Again, Lots of Canon Events Didn't Happen At All, Lots of Characters Live, Original Names For the Rest of Clegane Family Members, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Other Ships To Be Added, Out of Character, Reasooons, Slow Burn, Slower Than Slowpoke, Stannis the Mannis, That's a LOT of Tags For This Piece of Rubbish, The Risk I Took was Calculated but Man am I Bad at Math, Total AU, Virgin Characters, What Have I Done, lots of stupid references, mostly book canon
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-11
Updated: 2020-03-24
Packaged: 2020-12-12 05:08:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 20
Words: 77,093
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20990066
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gardakuka/pseuds/gardakuka
Summary: The King is dead. Long live the King!But wait, why the heir to the Iron Throne is not so happy about it? And why the Hand of the late King is suddenly worried about the perfect political betrothal? And who is going to deal with Ned Stark's daughter's stubborn character?And who the hell decided that listening to the opinion of smallfolk was a nice idea?





	1. Prologue in which Things Are Escalating Quickly

**Author's Note:**

> Warning number one: I am not a native English speaker (I mean, English is my fourth language, so...), and this is my first attempt to write something in English (apart from the Uni papers). As I don't have my beta, please tell me about my mistakes (pretty pleassse)  
Warning number two: "Our little Arnold can sometimes be... Well... He has a very active imagination." ©  
Warning number three: this work is a Total Piece of Rubbish and a Quintessence of the Crack; I don't even want to mention what exactly inspired me to this idea  
Warning number four: the events are taking place somewhere around 300 AC and all canon ages are kept the same (which makes Sansa (almost) 14 at the beginning of the story), so please be aware of it. But anyway, I was not the one who decided that marrying teenage girls in this fantasy universe is acceptable, oops!

Sandor didn’t like the North.

It was too cold, too gloomy, and very irritating. And his scars started to bleed again because of this shitty weather. Sandor ran a hand over his damaged cheek and observed the blood with a chuckle, and then just wiped it on his pants. Well, that looked like he was about to visit the castle’s maester on his arrival before he met with Ned Stark.

This whole trip to the North was happening only because of Ned Stark. Or, to be more precise, of Ned Stark and his ill wife. It was not clear what had happened to Lady Catelyn, some people were whispering about her weak Riverrun health which was not suitable for the wife of the Warden of the North, the others were talking about her recent miscarriage, but Sandor wasn’t paying attention to all these rumours. He was only interested in meeting bloody Ned Stark as soon as possible, getting all necessary information from him, returning to his father and being sent back to his favourite Westerlands. Which looked like a Summer Islands compared to the North.

To be honest, Sandor has never been to the Summer Islands before, but he was quite sure that everything was similar to them compared to the _bloody_ North.

At least Ned Stark was happy to meet with Sandor at the New Castle, it worked for both of them well: Sandor didn’t need to go further north and freeze to death, and Lord Stark wasn’t leaving his ill wife behind while travelling to the King’s Landing and back. And fat Lord Manderly was outrageously happy to host this meeting between Sandor and Ned Stark. He even offered to arrange a small feast, and that’s why Sandor decided to come on his own and make sure he will arrive to the castle at night so no one will be able to spot him on his way.

Sneaking in the dark like a thief while freezing your arse off, what a nice time to be alive!

Sandor snorted and gently spurred his horse. It was already getting dark, and according to his rough calculations, it would take him around an hour to finally arrive at the gates of White Harbor. Then he will bring Stranger to the castle stables, visit a fat maester (why was everyone becoming fat after spending some years in that bloody castle, was it some sort of a curse?), and then, hopefully, he will be able to meet Ned Stark straight away. Sandor was quite tired after almost a full day without sleep, but he wanted to be done with this stupid task from his father as quickly as it was possible. Then he will go to bed, have a proper sleep, and after a short breakfast, he’ll be gone. At least that’s what was promised by Lord Manderly who offered him a place on one of his ships to King’s Landing.

And then - off to Westerlands. Finally.

Sandor didn’t like to act as an errand boy to his father, but sometimes he just wasn’t able to refuse his requests. At least this particular request arrived when he was visiting the Twins, so the whole journey didn’t take as long as if he had to travel from King’s Landing. Plus, Sandor was really glad to finally escape the blight court of Lord Frey where he was feeling himself more like a hostage than a guest. The passive-aggressive hospitality of the Frey patriarch was well-known all over the Westeros, and Sandor hated it so much.

Well, probably the North was winning the second spot of the Most Hated Things of Sandor Clegane. Right after the old Walder Frey’s hospitality.

It was getting darker and colder, and Sandor was able to feel more blood oozing from his scarred cheek. He cursed and clasped the reins in his hand. He was getting more tired and more hungry, and Stranger’s pace was becoming slower and slower, but they had to do it. Sandor patted his horse’s neck and whispered some reassuring words, promising the best hay and the most comfortable place in the castle’s stables. He knew that Stranger will be able to understand him and bring to the bloody White Harbor as soon as he could.

He hoped Ned Stark was already present there so they could finish with this business quickly. And then he will be free from this errand, from the presence of Warden of the North, and most importantly - from this cold.

Gods, he really didn’t like the North!

* * *

Having a runny nose was not something that suited a perfect Lady, but at least her fever has receded. Catelyn tugged her handkerchief and in a very ladylike manner blew her nose. She had spent the last six days bedridden and was eagerly waiting for maester Luwin to finally tell her that she is free to leave her chambers and be back to her duties of Lady of the Winterfell. Not that Sansa was doing a bad job, not at all, but Catelyn was too bored and too tired of doing nothing. Master had insisted that she will be separated from her children for a while, and only yesterday Sansa and Arya, as the eldest ones, were allowed to visit their mother.

Her illness came at a quite bad time.

Ned was on his way to White Harbor for his meeting with Sandor Clegane, little Rickon had fallen from the horse and had a huge bruise on his leg, and the raven arrived from Storm’s End with a note from Robb that he was about to get betrothed to a girl from the minor house on his own will. Catelyn didn’t tell Ned about this letter, he would be too worried and distracted before his conversation with Clegane - and that would not be welcome at all.

Plus there were reports about wildlings who were spotted somewhere near Wolfswood and Long Lake, and some smallfolk were complaining about their poor conditions - well, there was so much to do at the moment.

And she was staying in her bed for the last six days. What a waste of time.

There was a quiet knock on the door, and Catelyn sunk back against the pillows. Then she decided to hide her handkerchief just in case - and only after that, she allowed the visitor to enter. Her voice sounded like a rasp because of this unfortunate cold, and it made Catelyn frown. That was the least ladylike thing which could happen to her.

Sansa, her eldest daughter, stepped inside the chamber with a little smile on her face. In the next second, she was pushed away by Arya, who jumped on Catelyn’s bed with a wide grin. Sansa closed the door, and Catelyn was able to hear a quiet whining of direwolves who were left outside. To be honest, Catelyn was not too fond of the huge animals who were following her children’s every step, but at least she didn’t have to deal with them now.

“Mother, Bran was telling me that he overheard some of the stable boys jabbering about the wildlings near Dreadfort,” Arya started to tell her straight away. She sounded too happy and excited for that kind of news.

Catelyn drop a soundless sigh, she wasn’t even sure herself if it was because of the news - or because of Arya’s behaviour. But the girl didn’t pay any attention and continued to chatter about news and things Catelyn had missed because of her fever. And a runny nose.

What a shame.

Catelyn shifted her gaze in the direction of Sansa, who seated herself on the end of a large bed. Sansa was still smiling, but there were little dark circles under her eyes, and her hair lost its usual shine. It wasn't even properly styled and laid on her shoulder in a messy braid. It looked liked Sansa took her role of the temporary Lady of the Winterfell too close to her heart.

Arya was finally done with her report and now was talking something about Jon’s arrival next week. Catelyn raised her brow - she had completely forgotten about his decision to visit Winterfell with this fever.

“When is he coming here?” she asked, and Arya looked at her mother with an unbelievable stare.

“In two days, mother,” replied Sansa instead, throwing daggers with her eyes to Arya’s direction.

Catelyn nodded. Well, in current situation Jon’s arrival would help her and Sansa to clear out all mess which happened in Winterfell while she was bedridden and Ned was away. And then Ned will come back - and things will be running smoothly again. Catelyn also hoped that her nose will stop running by that time as well.

She beckoned Sansa over and sat straight on her bed. Catelyn took a wooden comb from the bed table and without any word, Sansa knelt in front of the bed facing her mother away. She was tall enough for her age, and Catelyn didn’t have any problems with doing her hair in this position. Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed that Arya crawled away in a fear that she will be the next one. In a different time, Catelyn would probably give a lesson to her youngest daughter about her manners and appearance, but now she just chuckled - and began to sing.

Her voice was still a bit harsh and raspy, so she had to sing quietly. But it helped her to work, and so the story of a fair maiden who was betrothed to a foreign prince and taken away from her family to face years of tortures was heard in the large chamber. Sansa had closed her eyes and was listening without any word, but Arya was humming something under her breath. She started to yawn as soon as Catelyn finished singing.

“This maiden was a stupid one,” concluded Arya while moving back to her mother. “She had a chance to ran away after she learned that this prince was full of ru… Was a cruel one.”

Catelyn shook her head.

“You know, Arya, that it is not so easy to break someone’s betrothal. And it would be a great shame for her family if she would run away from the prince himself. After all, that was her duty.”

“So she was a stupid one.”

“Mother,” Sansa had finally opened her eyes and looked upon her with a strange expression in her eyes. “But why her family would choose to maintain their face over their daughter’s life? She died because this prince was cruel to her, why would someone want this future for their child?”

Catelyn sighed.

For sure Sansa was thinking about her betrothal. Catelyn was not happy when Ned announced that their eldest daughter will marry the heir of Storm’s End, his best friend’s son. Joffrey Baratheon was not the betrothed she could wish for any of her daughters - but it was very difficult to argue with Ned over anything connected to Robert.

“It is just a song, Sansa,” she replied while finishing braiding her hair. “You know, princes usually don’t have an ugly soul and these songs were made to get a message to the listeners.”

“But they have ugly faces for sure,” mumbled Arya.

“Don’t say like that,” scolded her Sansa straight away. “You know that you don’t need to judge people because of their appearances, right?”

“And that’s exactly why you were calling me a Horseface years ago! Besides, your betrothed has a perfect face and hair, so you don’t need to think about other princes, even if they are heirs to the throne!”

Sansa was about to answer Arya firmly but was stopped by a loud knock on the door. Catelyn was able to hear maester’s heavy breathing and direwolves’ yapping, so she sent a warning glance to each of her daughters and called her visitor in.

Maester Luwin looked like he was running from his tower, he was panting and there was a scroll in his hand with the seal of the Hand of the King.

“Lord Eddard asked me to give all his correspondence to you, My Lady,” he held Catelyn that scroll with a worried expression. “We were not expecting any letters from King’s Landing, since lord Eddard is on his way to meet the young Clegane…”

He didn’t finish his sentence, but Catelyn understood straight away that there was something important in that message.

The girls were sitting next to each other breathless. Catelyn nodded to them, then to maester, and only after that she decided to break a seal on the parchment.

Stannis Baratheon’s clear handwriting was quite easy to read, and in a short message he was writing to Warden of the North he trusted so much that...

“The King is dead,” Catelyn whispered, rolling the scroll back.

“That’s leaving us with an ugly heir,” Arya stuck her tongue out. “I’m already feeling sorry for our future Queen, whoever it will be.”

She earned a gentle whack from Sansa for this remark straight away.

Catelyn sighed and wiped her runny nose with an embroidered handkerchief. The news about the death of the King made her think about what she had to do next. Of course, Ned had to learn about it as soon as possible, but Catelyn didn’t want to send the raven to White Harbor - to be honest, she didn’t have much trust to the New Castle’s maester, especially when it was about the letters for Lord Manderly’s guests. And what if her letter will arrive already after Ned will be on his way back? Gods, she wasn’t even sure if he even made his way to White Harbor already or no!

It was the worst time to came down with this _filthy_ fever.

* * *

Stannis Baratheon was reading a report from the Grand Maester on late King’s examination. There was nothing suspicious in his unfortunate early passing, and Stannis put the paper away. He didn’t have any planned meetings for the rest of the evening, his wife was away visiting her distant relatives, and Shereen was busy packing her things for a trip to her cousins in Storm’s End. Stannis was confident that her main reason for requesting that trip was a desire to meet Eddard Stark’s heir, who was currently living there as Robert’s ward, but he granted his permission for his daughter’s journey anyway.

Stannis sat back in his comfortable chair (perfectly appropriate for the Hand of the King) and closed his eyes.

So.

The King was dead. Passed away due to his poor health and suddenly opened wounds he obtained during the old hunting accident. If not those wounds, he would be able to live ten or even fifteen years more, that’s what Stannis was sure of. Or maybe even longer - after all, his father passed away in a quite honourable age, and that’s despite constant phantom pains in his missed leg.

But it didn’t matter as the King was dead. Which was leaving Stannis to deal with the future of the realm. And the stubborn heir of the Iron Throne who was always expressing his displeasure of being the said heir of the said Iron Throne. Well, he wasn’t the only son of the late King, and he wasn’t even the first son - but Stannis would happily jump in the pit full of hungry direwolves than allow the eldest of brothers to get back from his exile and take the Iron Throne.

Well, of course, he will try to do everything possible to make a perfect King from the stubborn and pricky heir. Hopefully with the help of Eddard Stark, who had some kind of a talent to persuade people when it was needed. Stannis had already sent a short letter to Winterfell as soon as he exited dead King’s bedroom four days ago, and hopefully, it reached Stark on time. Or at least reached his wife, Stannis thought quite highly of Lady Catelyn and was sure she will know what to do if the message will arrive in Eddard Stark’s absence.

Meanwhile, he had to make the news of the King’s death official and ask Pycelle to send ravens across the whole Westeros to let everyone know that their King was dead. And that they had a new King now.

Sandor of the House Clegane, First of His Name, King of the Andals and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms, and Protector of the Realm.

Well, that had quite a nice ring to it. Stannis decided to take it as a good sign.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh boi, looks like a lot of explanation will be needed...


	2. In which Sansa Thinks About being Thrown into the Sea, Lord Manderly Freaks Out, and Ned Stark Makes Sandor an Offer He Can't Refuse

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for your support and lovely comments :)  
I am really glad it's not as awful as I thought straight away I posted the first chapter :'D  
I am bad at writing formal letters.

_To Wyman Manderly, Lord of the White Harbor, Warden of the White Knife,_

_His Grace, King Kastor of the House Clegane, First of His Name, King of the Andals and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms, and Protector of the Realm passed peacefully away in his sleep on the seventh day of the tenth month._

_The coronation of crown prince Sandor of House Clegane, First of His Name will be announced all over the Seven Kingdoms after the Royal Funerals._

_Long live King Sandor._

_Signed by Lord Stannis Baratheon, Hand of the King, current Protector of the Realm_

* * *

It would take them four and a half days to get to the White Harbor. It would take more time but Jory said they will try to change horses in villages on their way to get to the New Castle much faster. An old and blind raven would cross this distance in about two days, not to mention the speed a strong raven was capable of, but Catelyn insisted that the news of King’s death was passed to Ned in person. And to Sandor Clegane as well. Especially with the fact that there still was no raven from the Grand Maester with an official announcement of King’s death.

So Catelyn decided to send Jory to speak to Ned and Sandor Clegane, as well as bring to Ned extra clothes and other things he might need in the nearest future. After all, he was one of the closest advisors of the late King, and most probably his presence would be needed in King’s Landing straight away. So Catelyn sent Sansa and two maids to pack Ned’s things, then asked Arya to inform stable boys of all necessary preparations, and finally left her bed to write a note for her husband. As soon as she sealed the parchment, Jory came back with the report that everything was ready for a journey: three saddlebags with the provision and Lord Stark’s belongings, a pouch with a tidy little sum of golden dragons to pay stable owners in the villages, and two fastest horses who were well-rested and fed to be able to travel a decent distance before being changed.

“Two?” Catelyn repeated.

“Two,” Jory nodded. “As I understood, Lady Sansa will be travelling with me as well.”

“And who told you that, Jory?”

“Lady Sansa herself. And Lady Arya. And maester Luwin. And…”

“Everyone, but not your Lady, right?” Catelyn cut him off.

Jory lowered his eyes.

“Lady Sansa said it will be better if I’d arrive at White Harbor with someone from the family. You know, so His Grace won’t suspect any plot.”

Catelyn snorted - and straight away tried to pass it off as a cough. After all, she was still considered as an ill person.

“As far as I remember, King Kastor wasn’t a person who would suspect a treason from Warden of the North or a trusted member of his guard.”

“Yes, but Lady Sansa…”

Jory was cut again - this time by Catelyn’s eldest daughter who finally appeared on the doorway.

“Mother, I’d better go with Jory. Just in case,” she said, and her tone was nothing but a dead seriousness. “After all, Jory is about to deliver news of King’s death, it would be better if I’d be there as a daughter of Lord Stark. To be there as a confirmation that it is not a joke or an attempt to overthrow our new King.”

Catelyn sighed. Then rubbed her nose and sighed again.

“You know, young lady, that I would not be happy about your wilfulness in any other situation - but you can go. You have a point, even if it is weak enough, and also Jon will be here soon. Maybe it won’t be too bad.”

Sansa nodded and courtesied, most probably to make her mother at least happy about her ladylike manners, if not her behaviour.

“But as soon as you will arrive to White Harbor and speak to your father, you should rest a night and be on your way back,” Catelyn added, and Sansa simply nodded again.

“Thank you, mother.”

Then she disappeared in a hallway, and Catelyn thought that she forgot to ask Sansa about her direwolf - but from the usual behaviour of a huge beast, Lady would be happily following her mistress even on a quick and wearing journey.

Well, even if Catelyn was not fond of these direwolves, she had to admit that even one of them would make a proper guard for two lonely riders.

* * *

Jory’s plan worked well. They were able to change horses a couple of times on their way to White Harbor, and after four days of almost constant riding, he announced that they were quite close to White Harbor. Sansa smiled and expressed her hope that they would be in the New Castle as soon as it was possible where they could talk to her father, Lord Manderly, and crown prince, and after that both her and Jory would be able to have a proper rest.

That what she told him.

The only thing she wanted at this moment was to fall from the horse and sleep for ages.

Sansa never thought that riding could be _that _exhausting. She envied Jory, who was used to spend days in the saddle and even was able to ride half-asleep. She envied Lady, who was much stronger than her - it was the fourth day of their journey, and Lady was still running around with happy yapping. She even had time and strength to catch some rabbits for herself! And the weather - the weather was horrible. At first, it was raining, pouring like crazy, then suddenly all clouds had disappeared and the sun began to shine. Sansa was about to take off her wet cloak at least for a while - and then the windstorm came. The worst thing was that this was happening during all their ride.

Jory was a trained man, and Lady was a direwolf - and only Sansa was a weak and fragile girl who tried to wear a mask of a proper lady. And proper ladies never complained about any nuisances, that what she was taught. So the only thing Sansa was capable now of was to ride quietly and dream of a nice featherbed which was waiting for her in the New Castle.

After some time Jory happily announced that they are getting close. After about a half an hour more they finally spotted the first towers of the city.

“Soon we will be able to rest,” Jory was grinning. “Hopefully we will be able to catch Lord Stark straight away and deliver him the news.”

“I hope so as well,” Sansa nodded. “I don’t think that any raven from King’s Landing was able to reach White Harbor during the storm. And we didn’t meet father on our way, which means he is still with Lord Manderly and His Grace.”

“Looks like that,” Jory agreed and giggled. “Well, at least you will be finally able to meet our prince yourself - I know that you always wanted to meet someone from the Royal family, Beth told me about it. Well, she would like to meet him as well, you know, all these girly things and all - but you will be the lucky one, Lady Sansa.”

Sansa sighed.

“You met him before, right?”

“I did,” Jory nodded. “First time was straight after Robert’s rebellion - I was a young lad at that time, you know, and Clegane is just a year older than me - but even then he was towering over Lord Stark, can you imagine? They told me he was fighting as well, even killed a couple of men - you know, it was kind of scary when he became a crown prince. And with that face of his…”

“Don’t,” Sansa cut him off straight away. “You know that it isn’t his fault he looks like this. And besides, when he will be crowned, it would be his actions and not face he will be judged for.”

“You’re right,” Jory nodded again. “Hopefully he will be a wise King. Like his father. Even if he was surrounded by a bunch of advisors from all over the country.”

“But that’s not bad, isn’t it?” Sansa raised her eyebrows. “He was a man without a proper knowledge of how the Royal court works, and if he was on his own he would end up drowning in his mistakes. But with people like Lord Stannis - or father, - he was able to become a good King.”

“And you are right again,” Jory laughed. “Well, they usually say that sons are similar to their fathers - but I am afraid that with Sandor Clegane it would be a bit more difficult. You know, he was never really fond of the fact that he will become a King one day.”

“We will see,” Sansa shrugged.

They were now approaching the first tiny houses on the outskirts of White Harbor, and judging by the activities of local people they still were not aware of the King’s death.

“Do you think people will mourn?” she asked Jory as soon as they were on the open road again.

“I have no idea,” he shook his head. “Maybe they will. Maybe they won’t even pay attention, after all, they have more important things to worry about.”

“Winter is almost here.”

“Exactly. Well, at least our late King was able to provide enough resources for the northerners to survive - so maybe yes, they will mourn him.”

“I hope that King Sandor will continue to be a true friend for the North,” Sansa whispered.

“Well,” Jory suddenly laughed. “He might - or he might not. Who knows, maybe he will obtain a huge hatred for everyone connected to these lands as soon as one young, beautiful northern maiden will bring him news of his father’s death.”

Sansa frowned.

“I hope he won’t.”

“It was just a joke, My Lady,” Jory was still laughing. “You know, the main thing you should be worried about is that White Harbor is located next to the sea.”

“Why?”

“Because,” Jory made a dead-pan face. “You know, in some places on the East, they are taking messengers who brought the bad news and throwing them into the sea straight away. So be very careful, Lady Sansa.”

Sansa blinked trying to figure out his words - and then Jory burst into laughter, being rather happy about his joke.

Sansa sighed. At this particular moment, she would be really happy to be thrown into the sea. At least it would mean that she didn’t need to ride anymore.

* * *

Sandor was trapped in that bloody castle for the fourth day and was fed up with local rules, with local life, and most importantly - with local food.

After he met Lord Stark and discussed with him all questions regarding food supplies for the North, collected a bunch of sealed letters for his father, and listened to the complaints of lords from the minor families, he was offered a generous (too generous, to be honest) dinner and finally had a proper sleep. Stranger was doing well in spacious stables, and Lord Manderly confirmed that he arranged a ship to King’s Landing for the middle of next day. Sandor thanked him and Lord Stark and went to the chambers which were prepared for him next to the Lord’s ones.

The next morning, the storm arrived.

After breakfast, Lord Manderly took him to his solar and apologised and explained that it would be really dangerous to travel today. Sandor quickly calculated how long it will take him to get to the capital in this weather and had to agree. Then he was taken to the great hall for a quite nice lunch. He sat on the left hand of the host, while Lord Stark, who decided it would be safer to wait until the storm goes off, was seated on the right. Which worked completely fine for Sandor. As soon as they were done with lunch, he retreated to stables. Honestly, there was nothing else to do in the castle, and Sandor didn’t want to spend his time with Lord Manderly, or Lord Stark, or someone else from the local nobility. Stranger’s company was the best one, and he spent hours making sure he has the fresh hay and a good amount of apples, tending to all his needs, and simply talking to his horse. After that he came back to the castle for dinner, sipped a bit of tasteless wine with his generous portion of food, and went to the chambers to rest.

The next morning was the same.

Lord Manderly offered him too much food for breakfast and offered to wait one day more. The weather was still quite awful and Sandor nodded. He didn’t make all his way to the bloody North to simply become food for fishes. Or mermen. Or whoever was living in the local sea. So he finished his breakfast and ran to the stables again. Stranger was happy to see him, but Sandor could have sworn that he saw a tiny shadow of bewilderment in his horse’s glance. Then lunch arrived, after which Sandor decided to find something else to do to pass his time in the castle without much of interaction with the others. So he found a library - it was empty and cold, but Sandor was completely fine with that. He even was able to find some books about the history of the North, and spent some hours reading. When he was exiting the room, he suddenly bumped into Ned Stark.

“Lord Sandor,” Warden of the North was always referring to him in a such way. “I am really glad I met you on your own. There is an important thing we need to discuss.”

Sandor wanted to howl. Unfortunately, he knew what was the bloody thing Ned Stark was eager to talk to him about.

“I am not going to marry anyone in the nearest future,” he growled, eyeing Stark from his height. “I know that both you and my father are thinking that I am too old to be an unmarried man, but I will repeat once again. I. Am. Not. Going. To. Marry. Anyone.”

“It’s not about your age, Lord Sandor,” Ned Stark shook his head. “It’s about you being the heir to the Iron Throne. One day you will be the King - and you should have the Queen on your side. And the heir as well.”

“To hells with them, Lord Stark,” Sandor snorted. “There is no law that the heir should be married before taking the throne, so I don’t see why I should be bothered with this bollocks now.”

“Because I am about to write to the Martells about possible betrothal between you and Daenerys Targaryen.”

  
“ _What. _”

“I had a long conversation with your father and Lord Stannis the last time I was visiting King’s Landing,” Ned Stark continued without any hesitations, completely ignoring Sandor’s gnarled expression. “Both me and your father decided that it would be wise to marry you to the Targaryen girl. Well, Stannis was not happy to hear that, I am not sure why, but we decided that we will talk to you about it when the time will come. It would be the most rational and logical way which should make everyone happy, and…”

“I am sorry, Lord Stark,” Sandor cut him off. “But if I remember correctly, it was an unwillingness of people to see anyone from the noble family sitting on the Bloody Iron Throne that led to the fact I am a crown prince now. If you are talking about the logic and rationality - let me point out that this exact betrothal will lead to the new wave of smallfolk resistance. Which means that you will throw all years of hard work into the depth of the sea.”

Ned Stark narrowed his eyebrows.

“I don’t recall _you _being worried about the political alliances and what is right and wrong for a _King_, Sandor. And judging the way you speak, I suppose you are trying to impress me with your words just to get away with this betrothal, am I right?”

There was no reply from Sandor. He just turned around and almost ran away from the bloody Warden of the North. At this moment even the monstrous plate full of food was more preferable than this conversation.

The next morning was the same. Again.

Report from Lord Manderly about the awful weather and high waves. Frightfully huge (and full of fat) breakfast. Pilgrimage to the stables. Tons of fried fish for lunch. Poor attempts to hide somewhere in New Castle to avoid Ned Stark and his talks about the betrothal. Luxurious, but very unhealthy dinner. Warm chambers and comfortable bed - well, at least something nice among all horrors of this place.

On his fourth morning in White Harbor, Sandor woke up from the heavy sound of iced raindrops. He wanted to stay in his room for the whole day and do nothing, but then the maid came inside telling him that Lord Manderly is waiting for his guest in the great hall. Then it suddenly appeared that the said maid had accidentally got hooked on the small basket next to the door and part of her dress fell off. Sandor got out of his bed to help her, and by a very strange accident, it appeared that the only way to help her with her skirts was to take them off completely. Sandor sighed and kicked her out the door. A stupid maid, who was trying to seduce the crown prince, was the last thing he needed now.

During the breakfast, Sandor decided that he finally broke the curse of this castle, or at least found an answer to it. Now he knew why Lord Manderly, and his maester, and half of the local court were so fat. Sandor sighed and took a small bite of a strange cake. Well, at least the cooks of this castle nailed their job perfectly. So instead of stables, he decided to visit the castle’s kitchens. He got extra apples for Stranger, a proper supply of a proper wine, and a handful of greasy stares from some stupid kitchen wenches. Sandor nodded to all of them and retreated to stables. He felt safe enough in the company of Stranger than with these women.

Then the lunch came. It was followed by another unsuccessful attempt to hide from Ned Stark. Unfortunately, the Lord of Winterfell found him when Sandor was trying to sneak to the back yard, so in the end, Sandor spent at least two hours sitting and staring in front of himself while Ned Stark was jabbering something about his meeting with a possible future bride. Sandor wanted to yawn, but it definitely wouldn’t be polite to disrespect the man his father trusted. So he stayed completely silent, sometimes nodding to Stark’s questions or humming something in disapproval.

After the square dinner, he was visited by Lord Manderly.

By that time, Sandor was slowly falling into the deep pit full of despair. He even started to think that he will never make it out of this castle.

“Lord Clegane,” Wyman Manderly bowed. “I hope you are enjoying your stay at our castle.”

“I’m fed up,” Sandor grumbled with the blankest expression he was capable of, watching with the inner laughter how fat Lord’s face was rapidly losing all its colours.

“I am so sorry, Lord Clegane,” he began to prattle. “We honestly did our best to make sure you will enjoy your stay here, and I am very sorry if something was wrong, just tell us and we will correct all our mistakes, My Lord…”

Sandor finally lost it and broke into laughter.

“I’m fed up with the local food, that’s all,” he rasped between his laughter.

Lord Manderly looked like he was resurrected. He started to babble something about their cooks, about perfect northern hospitality - Sandor was too tired to listen to all of his breathless sentences.

“Lord Manderly,” he snapped him up. “I am grateful for your help and that you allowed me and my horse to stay in your castle. I am just… Too tired. Of everything.”

“Of course, My Lord. It’s already late, I won’t hold you back anymore for today.”

“Thank you,” Sandor nodded. “And please, could you send another maid to my rooms tomorrow? Just in case.”

Lord Manderly muttered something under his breath about young stupid wenches (Sandor couldn’t but agree with him) and left. He stretched his arms and decided to walk to the stables before going to bed. Being next to his horse made him calmer, and calm was exactly what he needed now.

As soon as he turned around the corner on the first floor, he bumped into a girl. Sandor quietly cursed under his breath and made a step back to be sure he didn’t hurt this wench. She fixed her skirts and looked at him - and almost immediately jumped back, covering her mouth with both her hands.

Sandor rolled his eyes up. When he was a lad he got quite used to see the horror on faces of smallfolk girls near their keep who saw him for the first time and were scared to death. But now he was a bloody prince, so everyone in this country new about his appearance. Why this girl was freaking out after bumping into him was a huge mystery for Sandor.

“Your Grace, I am very sorry…” her voice was trembling and Sandor sighed.

“Not a ‘Grace’. My father is, and I am just a bloody prince,” he grumbled, observing this strange girl.

She was wearing a wet and not clean cloak, and her long red braid was a mess - but her posture and her _fragile _hands were screaming that she wasn’t just a simple kitchen wench or handmaid of this castle.

“Your Grace,” she stubbornly repeated. She wasn’t looking that scared anymore, but her voice was still trembling as if she wanted to cry.

“I told you, girl,” Sandor sighed and folded his arms. “I am a bloody prince, and my father…”

“Your father is dead,” she whispered, eyes full of horror. And sadness. And…

Then it finally struck him.

_Oh._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> <s>I present you a masterpiece called 'The Sorrows of Young Clegane'</s>
> 
> Regarding names:  
For me, the first names of Sandor and Gregor have a liiiiiitle Eastern European flair (well, okay, a huge one to be honest), so when naming the rest of their family I tried to follow the concept 'Eastern European name + _-or_ ending'.  
For Sandor's father, I've chosen name Kastuś (a variation of Constantine) and made it look more _Cleganish_. Well, that's the whole story. Plus it looks a bit similar to a mythological Castor.  
(And now off to choose their granddad's name...)


	3. In which Ned Stark Doesn't Grant His Wife's Wish, and Sandor Shares His Breakfast with the Beast

Sansa fell asleep as soon as he head touched the soft pillow which Ned asked the maid to bring for her. The castellan told him he will prepare a room from Lord Stark’s daughter as soon as possible, but Sansa was too exhausted and stressed and needed some rest straight away - that’s how Ned ended up sitting in the capacious armchair next to the fireplace while Sansa was sleeping in his bed. Lady, her direwolf, curled in a huge fur ball next to her mistress, nuzzling Sansa’s cheek and quietly whining in her direwolf dream.

Sansa’s arrival was an unexpected thing. As well as the news she brought with her. The old King was dead, and the new one was as silent as a grave since he heard the message from Sansa. That was how Ned had learned all the news - he was just about to come back to the castle after some quiet time in the back yard when Sandor Clegane blasted past him with an unreadable expression on his twisted face. Curious Ned decided to look around the corner - and almost bumped into crying Sansa, who had to be in the Winterfell. His first thought was that the crown prince had hurt his daughter, and Ned was about to spin on his heel and run after Clegane to make him pay for his actions when Sansa grabbed the sleeve of his tunic and told him about the King’s death, while trying to fight her tears.

That was very bad news.

Also, it meant that in the morning he will have to travel to King’s Landing despite any weather. Well, drag Clegane out from any place he went to and sail with him to the capital. Jory, whom Ned met after he escorted his daughter inside, gave him two letters - a message from Catelyn and the letter which was originally sent to the Winterfell. Stannis was telling him that there shouldn’t be anything suspicious about Kastor’s death, at least he hoped that Pycelle’s examination will prove it. And Catelyn was asking Ned to be careful during his trip to the capital - and also to make sure that Sansa will have enough rest after her arrival. And not to allow Lady to sleep on Sansa’s bed.

Ned closed his eyes and tried to think about his next steps. Firstly, Clegane. Ned had no idea where he had gone, but before he went to sleep he checked with the castle guards - nobody saw the prince leaving its lands. So he was somewhere nearby, most probably trying to deal with the news, or maybe even with some sort of grief. Ned knew him for years now, and he was sure that there was no place for grief in Sandor Clegane’s soul, but after all, it was his father who had just passed away. And Ned wasn’t a stranger to the hollow which appeared inside after he learned about the death of Rickard Stark.

So, he will deal with Clegane in the morning. Ned was pretty confident that there won’t be any issue with telling him about their urgent departure - after all, Clegane was waiting to leave this place for days, so he definitely should consider this announcement as a blessing from the Seven.

The next problem was the question of Sandor Clegane’s reign. Or, to be more precise, about his future bride. Ned had already sent the fastest raven he was able to find at maester Theomore’s tower to the Martells, who were raising the last descendants of the House Targaryen with their children, as was agreed after the end of the Troubles. There had to be Queen who would bore healthy and strong heirs to the future King of Westeros, and the name of Daenerys Targaryen was the only one Ned could suggest for this position. Firstly, she was a strong girl. Maybe it was in her blood, maybe she was just lucky to have good health (as well as pretty face), but she could give the King enough children to be able to secure the lineage of House Clegane - as well as to sort some external relations through future betrothals. Secondly, it would be a good idea to somehow bring Targaryens back to the power. After all, they were sitting on the Iron Thrones for ages, and even if Daenerys and her brother were now living in peace with the current circumstances, Ned was not sure that in a couple of years Viserys Targaryen will not try to get back his father’s throne through the new rebellion. So giving the role of the Queen of Westeros to his younger sister would be a reasonable step.

And there was a promise which Ned gave to the late King when he was visiting capital last time; Kastor Clegane, who was constantly complaining about deep coughs, was quite worried about the future of his son - and asked both Ned and Stannis to help him at least to find a possible bride. Well, of course, it would be Sandor himself who would make a final decision about his marriage, but Ned had promised that he will do everything possible to hasten this process - and straight away came up with the idea about a betrothal between Sandor of House Clegane and Daenerys of House Targaryen.

Speaking of promises.

Ned opened his eyes and looked upon his daughter, who was sleeping peacefully with her direwolf on the other side of his chambers. Years ago Ned and Robert Baratheon had decided that their houses should be joined in marriage, and after Sansa was born it was agreed that one day she should marry the eldest Robert’s son. Ned had already met Joffrey Baratheon on some occasions in King’s Landing, and he still didn’t have a clear enough opinion about the boy. Joffrey was always displeased with something, kind of dull, and most importantly - he didn’t take anyone serious except for himself. That person wouldn’t be good enough for Sansa, but Ned was comforting himself with the thought that last time he saw Joffrey he was eight - he should be much older now, and his character had to change too.

Well, at least Ned will have an opportunity to meet him again, as Robert and his family should be present for the Royal funerals. Then he could talk to both Robert and Joffrey, make new observations of that boy, and hopefully there won’t be a need to make any changes in the betrothal.

Or, maybe it would be better if Sansa could meet her future husband as well?

Ned rubbed the bridge of his nose. Yes, he could take Sansa with him. She had never been in King’s Landing before, so that could be a small reward for her after the recent stress. Plus, she will be able to meet Joffrey and Ned will see how the things will go between them. Plus, Sansa always was a proper voice of reason, the same as her mother - so she could be a beneficial addition to their travel party, just in case.

Ned nodded to himself, making a small note to write a letter to Catelyn and send it to the Winterfell in the morning, and tried to have at least some sleep. There will be a lot of work to do very soon.

  
  


* * *

  
  


Sandor woke up from the weird feeling as if someone was trying to chew on his sleeve. He opened his eyes and met Stranger’s questionable stare, as if his horse was asking him how in the Seven Hells his master managed to fall asleep in the stables.

Sandor sighed and rubbed his forehead with both his palms. He had too much wine yesterday, his head was spinning around and there was an awful aftertaste in his mouth, which made him wish he never had that shitty wine at all. But he needed the proper drink yesterday, and this wine, abandoned in the kitchens, was his only option.

Well.

The King was dead.

Which made Sandor the next in the line to the bloody throne. Sandor never liked that massive chair with thousands of rusty swords, when he had to be present during the court meetings, he always tried to stay as far as possible from that hideous beast of chairs which was towering over every single soul in the Great Hall.

When Gregor was brought to the court to answer for everything he did in the past, he looked so small and tiny while kneeling in front of the throne. Sandor was thirteen at that time, he was hiding behind one of the huge pillars and wishing that the great Iron Throne could smash Gregor as if he was a stupid and annoying beetle. But the bloody chair did nothing, and it was their father who had sentenced Gregor for the eternal exile - and it was the last time Sandor saw his failure of a brother. And that was the happiest day of his life, for sure.

And now he would be the one who had to sit on the monstrous throne and make decisions which could even change the future of the whole Westeros. It sounded strange. It sounded unreal. It sounded so sick that Sandor had to grab an additional flask yesterday - and now he was sick.

The King was dead.

No.

His _father _was dead.

Sandor hated to be the bloody heir to the throne - but strangely enough, it was only after his father was appointed a King when he was able to create some kind of a bond with his only remained son. Lord Kastor of the Clegane Keep was a coward and useless prick who didn’t know to do with his life. King Kastor, First of His Name was a thoughtful ruler and a person who was treating his son with the respect and hope to get along with him after all the misfortunes of the past.

Well, to be more precise, it wasn’t a day when the new King was anointed which became a point of no return for his father. It was a day he was brought from the hunt by Gregor - covered in blood and lifeless, and Sandor’s first and only thought was that he was now on his own, and the only way to escape the death from Gregor’s hand was to run away. But then the maester appeared, and after Gregor asked him to take their father away and prepare him for the burial, he coldly informed too happy heir of the keep that there should be a short examination done - at least for the keep’s records.

And then maester had found Sandor in the stables, where he was mounting the first available horse in hope to escape before Gregor will find him - and Sandor learned that his father was still alive. Heavily wounded, almost on the threshold of one of the Seven Heavens (or Hells, Sandor was not sure which afterlife path was prepared for his father), but alive.

And Sandor stayed. Still, he had to hide from Gregor for the next couple of days just in case - he still had a bag with his belongings hidden in the stables, and when it was announced that Lord Kastor will be in his full health soon, Sandor finally understood that he doesn’t need to run away. It was hard to imagine what was awaiting him behind the walls of Clegane Keep.

And that was the whole story of how his father had finally started to change his attitude towards everything and everyone - but mostly towards his firstborn.

And a couple of years later he became the King. And Sandor was named a crown prince. And Gregor was gone.

And now his father was dead.

When he heard the news from that girl, his initial reaction was a bitter laughter. Then he asked her if she was playing a jape on him. Then he was a footstep away to wipe her tears with an old handkerchief he had in his pocket. And then he finally absorbed the news. And ran away.

The girl - she said he was Ned Stark’s daughter, - was left there on his own, but Sandor wasn’t a person who knew how to comfort people, and he needed some sort of the comfort himself, even if it was consisting of senseless drinking while sitting on the stables’ floor next to his horse. At least nobody would search for him there, right?

And now his horse was looking at Sandor with the deep judgement, and Sandor had to stand up on his feet and check around for some fresh hay. His back was hurting from his sleeping position, his head was still going round, and somewhere deep inside he felt something which resembled a dark hole.

He was all alone now.

His mother was dead, his sister was murdered, his brother was never coming back, and now his father passed away as well. Which left Sandor Clegane on his own - and with the worst responsibility he could ever imagine.

After he made sure that Stranger was happy and busy with his breakfast, Sandor left the stables and quietly sneaked back to the castle. It was still an early hour, and there was nobody to be seen in the dark halls. Lord Manderly was sleeping in his bed, Ned Stark was resting somewhere as well, as did the cooks, kitchen wenches and the rest of the castle workers.

And the girl was most probably sleeping as well. She looked like she didn’t have enough rest for at least a week - and Sandor realised that he didn’t even know when exactly his father died. Maybe when he was still on his way to meet Ned Stark. Or maybe while he was trying not to go crazy in the boredom of the New Castle. Suddenly Sandor needed to know what he was doing when his father had passed away.

He tried to kick this thought away went to the kitchens. There was no one at this hour, and Sandor decided to steal - no, _ borrow _some food to be able to escape the breakfast. After all, he was almost a King now, so he had his right to eat whenever he wanted, right?

There was not much food left from the dinner, and Sandor ended up taking some apples, cheese, and a tiny bit of a ham. There was more wine in the storage, but he had enough of it, so he picked a jug of water and sit at one of the tables. Judging by the usual time of a local breakfast, he still had enough time before someone would walk in and disturb him with whining and condolences.

And well, just in a couple of minutes he was exactly distracted by a whining.

As Sandor kept the door opened and didn’t pay attention to his surroundings, he was quite surprised to hear a tiny whine from somewhere near the entrance. He turned his head to check on the intruder - and met a deep eyes of a huge wolf, who was looking at him with an unreadable expression. Or, to be more precise, at the piece of a juicy ham in his hand.

Sandor lost it and made a barking laugh.

Firstly, he was greeted by Stranger straight after he woke up. Now, there was this wolf, who looked to peaceful and tamed for the beast of its size - Sandor had heard about the ancient direwolves before, and Ned Stark was always mumbling about the great gift his Old Gods made for his children, so Sandor suspected that this particular creature came to the New Castle together with the Stark girl.

Which meant she was somewhere nearby.

Sandor sighed and bit on his ham. The direwolf made the saddest sound he had ever heard and now there was a depiction of the greatest tragedy in its eyes. Sandor laughed and waved his hand, as if asking it to join him for breakfast. He earned a short, but quite happy yap for it, and it was a matter of seconds the creature was sitting next to him and waiting for the treat.

So Sandor shared a bit of his ham with his new companion.

There was a quiet rustle near the door, and direwolf made a happy yap again, but didn’t even make an attempt to leave Sandor’s side.

“Your Grace.”

Well, he was right - as always. The Stark girl was nearby, and now she was standing next to the entrance and shifting her gaze from Sandor to her pet.

“Spare me from these formalities,” Sandor grumbled. Then, remembering that he was talking to the daughter of Lord Stark, he sighed and added. “Please.”

The girl - Sansa was her name, - narrowed her eyebrows and looked at him with a pensive expression.

“I am sorry,” she started, sounding a bit unsure. “But how should I refer to you then?”

“Just a simple Clegane will do,” Sandor shrugged. He was fed up with the formalities which were surrounding him for the biggest part of his life, and more of them were to come. So if he could avoid them at least for a short period, he would start to do so now.

“But would that be… appropriate?” Sansa Stark was still questioning his request.

“Trust me, it will,” Sandor snorted. “Are you here to get your pet?”

“That’s too,” she nodded. “I woke up too early, and there was no proper food during our way to White Harbor - I think I am a bit hungry.”

“You think,” Sandor was unable to contain his smirk. “Well, then you will stay hungry for some time more, I suppose. There’s nothing decent left in these kitchens, unless you want to try some shitty wine on an empty stomach. Or get some apples and ham - I’ve already finished all cheese they had here, so I’m sorry.”

The girl nodded again, making a small step towards him.

“Would you mind if I will sit next to y… Next to my direwolf?”

Sandor shrugged off the question, and then Sansa Stark was seated in front of him. He pushed the plate with ham closer to her, and the girl nodded politely again. Her direwolf was now lying on Sandor’s side, as if there was no mistress presented, and Sandor decided not to pay too much attention to it. He still had to continue his breakfast.

The girl didn’t say a word while eating, but out of the corner of his eye Sandor had caught her throwing short stares at his side. Most probably, she wanted to see his infamous scars, Sandor snorted. So he tucked some of his hair back, as if out of a habit, trying to make the girl make a face and avert her gaze. But she kept looking at him from time to time, so Sandor decided to do the same. Luckily, he wasn’t caught by her at all.

As soon as she was ready with her meal, she stood up and called her direwolf (how could someone even come up with such a name for the huge beast?), and made a courtesy nod to Sandor.

“I will see you later today, Your…”

“I told you, it’s Clegane,” Sandor sighed.

These high-born ladies were too stubborn sometimes.

“It is very uncomfortable to call you just by your last name,” she moved her shoulder in a bleak motion, but her eyes were meeting his. “I am sorry.”

“You can call me Sandor?”

“That’s too improper.”

“Then you can refer to me as the High Septon.”

“That’s quite… _ what _?” the girl looked at him with a barefaced confusion and Sandor burst into laughter.

“I’m joking, okay? But please, I am asking you to spare me from all these names and courtesies - in a couple of weeks I will be the bloody King, and then I will hear for so much that I could choke on them. Alright?”

Sansa Stark was eyeing him with a puzzled expression, as if she was trying to understand what exactly was going inside Sandor’s head.

“You are not acting like a prince,” she mumbled, which made Sandor laugh again.

“I wasn’t born in a fairytale, you know,” he narrowed his eyes.

“I know,” she echoed. “None of us is living in a fairytale.”

“Well, with all your looks and your family - you could.”

Sansa Stark furrowed her thin brows.

“Maybe I could, at least for a time being.”

“And then?”

“And then I will get married,” she shrugged and turned around. “I will see you later today then, _ Sandor _.”

  
  


* * *

  
  


Jory was given a request to bring from the market some dresses and jewellery for Sansa. She came to White Harbor in a simple dress, and needed extra clothes for her trip. When Sansa was told she will be joining her father and Sandor Clegane on their trip to King’s Landing, she immediately felt a flush of a warmth which looked like happiness. She had never been to the capital before, and even if the reason for their travel was not the pleasant one, Sansa still was looking forward to her journey.

And then father told her about her meeting with Joffrey, and Sansa’s happiness had vanished away. She knew she had her duty as the eldest daughter, and she was aware of her father’s promise to his best friend - but she never wished to be a bride to someone like Joffrey.

The stories of his twisted mind were travelling all over Westeros, and even if Eddard Stark was comforting his daughter and explaining that these talks were made up to tar Robert Baratheon’s reputation, Sansa was not finding any peace in her father’s words.

She didn’t want to marry Joffrey Baratheon, but she didn’t want to disappoint her father.

She didn’t want to be a proper little lady at all.

While Jory was away, Sansa had packed her belongings in a tiny bag and brought everything to the maids who were arranging their movement to the ship Lord Manderly had provided for this trip. The weather had finally calmed down, and there shouldn’t be any storm on their way. At least that what her father was hoping for, and Sansa decided to trust his assumptions.

Jory came back exactly at the time when they were leaving the New Castle. Sansa thanked him and promised to try on all dresses he bought, and Lady nuzzled his palm at parting. Sansa was not sure how her direwolf will carry over the sea trip, but then she became excited after they boarded their ship. Sansa was given a small, but cosy cabin next to her father’s one, and there was enough room for Lady as well, and at least the whole journey was looking quite promising, so Sansa decided not to think much about Joffrey and her father’s promises.

She’d better leave them for later.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading!
> 
> I am not sure when I will be able to post the next update, as I am moving over to another country tomorrow, so it will be quite busy for me to settle down and stuff... But I will hope to have enough time to write an update and put it here withing the next week :)


	4. In which Sansa and Sandor Talk a Lot

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote part of this chapter on my phone, so there could be some stupid errors, typos, or maybe even misspelled words :'D  
But I will look through it tomorrow.

On the fifth day of their travel, Sansa had finally decided she was not a sea person.

She didn't have a seasickness, not at all - but it was the most boring thing she had ever experienced. Or maybe the whole point was that she was a high-born lady.

From what she observed, the crew and some merchants who took the same ship to King's Landing, were enjoying themselves, having fun on the deck, and even gathering together after dinner for the long hours of bawdy jokes, loud songs and all kinds of games which were available on this ship. Even her father was joining them from time to time and, most probably, had at least some rest.

But Sansa was a lady, and ladies didn't spend their time with drunk sailors and foreign merchants. Proper ladies had to seat in their cabin almost all the time - unless their fathers were taking them out for a short walk.

At least she had Lady next to her. Her direwolf was more than welcome on the deck, as everyone fell in love with her as soon as their boarded and Lady started to yap like crazy - but she still decided to spend her time with Sansa in a small cabin which wasn’t a perfect place for a giant creature Lady was. And she was missing her freedom and fresh air, that what Sansa was sure of, but when her father decided to take Lady outside with him for a quick walk before sleeping time (as it was not advised for a girl like Sansa to spend her afternoon next to the sailors and their spirits), the loyal direwolf started to whine sadly and curled on the floor behind her mistress - and looked at the Lord Eddard Stark with some sort of disapproval.

So, at the moment Sansa was sharing almost all her free time with Lady. Her father was coming to her cabin frequently too, sometimes he was taking Sansa to his one as well - they were discussing their time in King’s Landing, playing some easy games of cyvasse, or simply reading books the captain borrowed them (of course, her father had to check first if it was a proper reading for a lady of her age). Most of the times they were sharing their lunches and dinners in one of the cabins, and joining the rest only for breakfasts, as the common area wasn’t too crowded at that time. Sansa got acquainted with several merchants and senior members of the crew, but had never had a chance for a proper conversation with them. She didn’t see Sandor Clegane as well, but it was not her responsibility to worry about the crown prince and his whereabouts.

And that’s how the five long days had passed, and Sansa was desperate to get off this ship as soon as she could. She was told that they won’t have any stops on their way as the main task of the crew was to get the future King and the Warden of the North with his daughter to the capital as quickly as they could in current weather conditions. The captain was referencing to the fourteen days, and Lord Stark was telling about full sixteen days. The precise number didn’t matter for Sansa, she only wanted to arrive at their destination point and forget about the whole trip.

Arya once told her she would be head over heels if father and mother allowed her to travel somewhere by ship. But Arya was a highborn lady too, so she would face the same fate as her sister, so Sansa decided to warn Arya about the dangers of boarding the ship. This boredom would kill Arya much faster than her, that’s what Sansa was quite sure of.

But on the sixth day, Sansa decided that she had enough. The cabin was nice and cosy, but at that point, it looked more like a cage where she was trapped before getting to the high court of the King’s Landing and meeting her betrothed. And Lady was getting sadder and sadder with each hour, so Sansa decided that her direwolf had earned some fresh air and free time. As well as herself.

Her appearance on the deck would be considered as a scandalised one by people from the nobility; to be honest, Sansa was not able to understand how on earth they would learn about her time on the ship, as no one from the said nobility was present here, except for her father. And Sandor Clegane, who technically wasn’t a nobility at all - but he was almost a King, so his presence also was important. Still, she wouldn’t suspected not him, nor Eddard Stark to start gossiping about her whereabouts on this ship, as well as about her potential friendship with someone from the crew. Sansa was not even sure she would befriend someone at all, it was Arya who was an easy-going and carefree person, and who was making friends in the blink of an eye. But rules were rules, and if her father was suggesting she should follow them, it was her duty.

She was the oldest daughter of the ancient noble family, and her blood didn’t want to listen to her opinion at all.

But she needed some time outside, preferably on her own - and with Lady by her side, of course. Sansa’s plan was simple - she would wake up in the middle of the night, sneak around the deck and enjoy her freedom somewhere in the dark corner, and Lady will have enough time to explore the open part of the ship. After all, nobody could question her direwolf’s desire for a short run. Then they would quietly retreat to their cabin, and in the morning no one will even suspect that the most dutiful maiden of the North had broken one of the rules which were set by her family. And by the society, of course.

Her plan was perfect. She went to sleep a bit earlier than usual, whispering to her father that she wasn’t feeling good. Eddard Stark plant a kiss on her temple and retreated to his cabin, or maybe even went to have a chat with someone on the deck - and Sansa had fallen asleep almost straight away. The boredom was too exhausting.

In the middle of the night, she woke up from Lady’s whines and hot tongue all over her face. Sansa giggled and patted Lady’s soft fur, making the beast to purr - almost like a cat. Sansa put on a nice, but not warm dress and went outside, asking Lady with her gestures to stay quiet. She decided to go for her little adventure barefoot, so there won’t be any additional noises. Just in case. After all, her father’s cabin was next to her, and nobody from the crew was walking in their quarters after bedtime. So nothing had to look - and more importantly, to sound suspicious.

The deck welcomed Sansa and Lady with the strong blow of fresh and a bit cold air, and Sansa grinned widely. Oh, it was so amazing to be able to smile like this - completely unladylike, but no one was around to preach her, so she made an almost soundless giggle and decided to the direction of the resting area she was often visiting with her father during their walks. Firstly, there should be some nice benches to sit on. And, which was the most important thing now, the sailors who were stayed awake for the night wouldn’t see that side of the deck at all.

So Sansa was completely safe. As was her reputation.

She walked to the resting area with tiny, quiet steps, and even being barefoot Sansa was fearing that someone (or, to be more precise - her father) will become aware of her whereabouts. Meanwhile, Lady ran away with muffled thumping sounds her big paws made, and Sansa heard her happy yapping on the other side of the deck. It looked like Lady bumped into someone from the crew and was getting her portion of neck and belly rubs. She was fond of that type of affection, the huge and scary beast she was. 

It was dark in this part of the shop, and Sansa had to make her steps even smaller, so she will be sure she won't hit her toes or won't bump into anything.

Instead, as she was approaching the nearest bench, she bumped straight away into His Grace Lord Sandor Clegane himself. 

"I'm sorry," Sansa apologised straight away, her voice no louder than a whisper. Sandor Clegane also murmured some sort of apologies and moved somewhere - Sansa wasn't able to see him clearly, but she assumed he just moved to the other side of this tiny bench.

So she took it as a mute offer to seat next to him and lowered herself on the wooden surface.

They were sitting in a dull silence.

Then there was a loud thumping sound again, and Lady muzzled into her knee, her nose wet and dirty in something which looked like a sauce. The crew members didn't waste their chances to befriend the lovely direwolf.

"Took your Lady for a walk?" Sandor Clegane asked in a hushed tone. As if he was afraid that someone will find him here, and Sansa almost laughed. He was a man, and he was the heir of the Westeros, and there were no rules about crown princes not being allowed to spend their time however they liked. 

"Something like that," she shortly answered.

Sandor Clegane bent to her side and scratched Lady behind her big ear. In the return, he received a generous portion of small yaps, and his palm was lick as well.

"For the creature like her this ship is a torture, of course, she won't have enough freedom only during her daily walks."

"Lady is staying inside during the day", Sansa narrowed her brows. "The same as me, if you didn't notice."

Then she realized that her phrase sounded too informal and probably even insulting for the future King, so she added a tiny "your grace" too, even if Sandor Clegane asked her not to call him that way.

But he didn't pay attention to her mistake, as well as didn't care about her tone. Instead, he made a laugh. It sounded too ridiculous, when he tried to laugh in his usual barking manner with it making any noise.

"Of course I didn't notice, girl. That's quite difficult to notice anything when you are spending most of your day in the cabin."

"So you have a seasickness?" Sansa asked and regretted it straight away. 

Well, _ that _definitely could be considered as an insult to the royalty.

"Of course I'm not," Sandor Clegane snorted. "Just don't want to be on the deck when it's full of people. It's too uncomfortable, you know?" 

Sansa thought for a second - and then shook her head in disagreement. 

"To be honest, I don't," she sighed and gave Lady another pat. "When you are not allowed to spend your time with the ship crew or someone else on your own, and end up being locked in the cabin - and that's only because you are a proper little lady - we'll, then you will start to starve for any kind of attention. Or at least for any kind of company."

“So here I am,” Sandor Clegane snorted. “Your company for tonight, I mean. Hope you won’t mind.”

“I won’t,” Sansa shrugged. “Unless you will start to preach to me about the proper life for a high-born lady.”

“Lord Stark’s daughter is a little rebel?”

“Lord Stark’s daughter _is _a little rebel,” Sansa nodded. “But that’s my younger sister we are talking about. And everyone calls me a lady. A _ young _lady, not a little one.”

“From what I understood from you, you don’t want to be a lady, am I right?”

“I want,” Sansa sighed again. Lady, as if sensing that her mistress started to feel some discomfort, crawled to her side and put her large head on Sansa’s knees. “But the thing is that I don’t feel proper enough to be a lady.”

Sandor Clegane was quiet for a moment. Then he chuckled, as if Sansa was telling him the funniest story he ever had.

“Trust me, you are a proper lady - and I have seen enough of them of all kinds at the High court. You look sensible and quiet, and know all this bloody rubbish about being courteous enough to make a proper mistress for the keep or castle. Your manners are polished, your appearance is neat - well, except for our first encounter, and at least you look more sincere than that bunch of fraud women whose acting is the worst thing I ever seen.”

“And how you can be so sure about it?” Sansa frowned. “You don’t even know me enough to make any kind of assumptions about me, and who I am, and who I want to be.”

“Trust me, I had too big history of dealing with all sort of ladies,” Sandor Clegane grumbled, turning his face to her. “Since I became the heir to the throne, I was always surrounded by them - trying to flirt with me, seduce me - in other words, getting some profit from being too close to me. And I had enough of them - and what I see now in front of me is a completely different person.”

“Maybe I am a good mummer?” Sansa clicked her tongue.

“You are the worst mummer I ever met,” he snorted in response. “I mean, remember our first meeting - the good mummer would not break down with tears and bad news even if he was on the edge on their nerves. But you did.”

“Wasn’t that a normal thing when you are tired and worn out?” Sansa retorted, but the man just waved his hand.

“Not saying it’s a bad thing. It’s just confirming my suspicion that you are not a mummer at all - which makes you a perfect lady then. And I’ve just told you why.”

“I am not perfect,” Sansa shook her head. “I mean, I want to be a dutiful daughter and loyal wife in the future, but the things… The things are going not in the direction I would wish for myself. Lots of things are going wrong lately.”

“You mean the fact that you were stuck in your cabin like a bird in a cage?” Sandor Clegane asked.

“And that’s too.”

“Let me guess then - the other thing is your betrothed you mentioned that morning in the castle?”

“And you are right as well,” Sansa inhaled loudly. “Being betrothed to the person who is described by everyone as a cruel and devious is not the best thing in the world.”

“Are you betrothed to the bloody Littlefinger or what?” Sandor Clegane sounded quite confused.

At least his remark made Sansa snort in the most unladylike way.

“What’s on your mind if you are making such assumptions?” she asked, trying to suppress her laughter.

“That’s the only person I could call cruel and devious - well, at least in front of the lady like you. If you won’t be here, I’d use completely different words, trust me.”

“I don’t know about Lord Baelish a lot,” Sansa shrugged. “Just saw him a couple of times in Winterfell when I was a child. And after that he never paid us any visit.”

“And that’s for the best, trust me,” Sandor Clegane murmured. “Well, so who is your betrothed then?”

“Joffrey Baratheon.”

Now it was his time to choke with laughter, he even doubled up as in pain.

“Joffrey? That little wanker is your betrothed? Is your father blind and deaf, or what?”

“Please, don’t talk like this about my father, _ Sandor_,” Sansa advised him coldly. “And I have already told you that I know about bad sides of my betrothed - and this knowledge is making me not as dutiful daughter as I wish to be.”

“I’m not talking about bad sides or other rubbish,” Sandor Clegane just was unable to stop snorting, even Lady lifted her head and stared at the big man next to her mistress. “But Joffrey Baratheon - bloody hell, how could _ anyone _ decide to arrange a betrothal of their precious daughter with that weakling.”

“Weakling?”

“Well,” he rubbed the pitch of his nose. “I don’t know him too well, I am not his wetnurse or someone else after all - but I had to stay in his company for a couple of occasions. You know - crown prince and the heir of the Storm’s End, they should spend some times during feasts and other rubbish. And Joffrey - I am not sure about his cruelty, but he is weak, he is pathetic, and he is a liar. And a coward. And a wan…”

“I got it, thank you,” Sansa cut him off. “But my father thinks that we will make a perfect couple. Somehow.”

“Your father is sure that I will make a perfect couple with Daenerys Targaryen, and _ that’s _the worst idea someone ever had.”

“You and Daenerys are betrothed?” Sansa frowned.

“Not yet. And when we will arrive at King’s Landing I will say my solid “no”. I mean, I will be the King - and I could make my own decisions and choices, right?”

“Right,” Sansa sadly agreed. “You can - and I will have to follow my father’s will.”

Sandor Clegane didn’t reply to her. He just looked away - as Sansa was able to see in the darkness, there was a line between his eyebrows and the right, healed side of his mouth was twitching slightly in an unknown emotion.

“Your father will be a fool if he will give you away to that Lannister bastard. A pretty and greedy mummer will be enough for him - but we agreed that you are not a mummer. You are a lady.”

“I am a lady,” Sansa nodded. “And I think our conversation is now going in circles.”

“Then I suppose it’s time for me to retreat,” Sandor Clegane stood up and looked at Sansa. “Will you decide to play a little rebel tomorrow as well?”

“I am not a rebel,” Sansa corrected him. “I am just taking my direwolf out.”

“Then,” he grinned and bent down to pat the top of Lady’s head. “Then I will look forward to greeting your direwolf tomorrow at night as well - after all, the creature of her size should have more freedom than she had during the last days of our travel.”

He patted Lady again - and then he was gone. He had surprisingly quiet steps for a man of his stature, and Sansa could not resist another snort. Lady muzzled her knee as if asking what was that thing which made her mistress act as if she was a tavern wench and not a northern lady.

What a scandalous situation, being doubted by your direwolf.

Sansa scratched Lady behind her ear and stood up as well.

“I think we should have some sleep. What do you think?” she whispered, and Lady was ready to go straight away. She made a tiny whine and brushed her large tail around Sansa.

Later, when both of them safely returned to their cabin and were lying on a small bed together, Sansa was petting Lady’s fur and slowly drifting to sleep. The moon was shining brightly, making part of her room to look uncanny, and just before she was off, Sansa thought that in the pitch darkness, under just the moonlight it was rather difficult to notice scars on Sandor Clegane’s left cheek. And he didn’t look as good without them as he always did.


	5. In which Sandor and Sansa Come to an Agreement, Lady Expresses Her Disapproval, and Stannis Wishes to Kick his Friends Downstairs

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's the same warning about writing part of this chapter on the phone as it was the last time c':  
(I mean, I'll have to do it before I will move to my own flat...)  
<s>I have no idea why AO3 doesn't want to show my chapters in the feed... I mean, I put 28 October as a publishing day, and the website decided to put it for 27th. Whut. And then it just kept toying with the position and dates of this chapter. Whuuut. I was so tired (it's past midnight here) I decided to leave it as it was. Sorry. Ugh.</s>

If someone asked Stannis who was his most favourite brother, his answer would be Renly straight away. Well, sometimes things were quite difficult with both his siblings, but at least Renly was responsible enough to inform his brother about his early arrival.

Robert came to his room without any notice.

Stannis was about to finish his daily tasks, which doubled for a time being while he was dealing with the issues of the realm between the death of King and the coronation of the crown prince. Stannis was tired, shagged out, and wanted to retreat to his chambers and have a proper rest. He even decided to skip the dinner for tonight and wake up a bit earlier to get a decent breakfast in the morning instead, but Robert’s arrival messed up all his plans and wishes.

“Why are you so serious, brother?” Robert laughed while straining Stannis in his arms and smacking him on the shoulder.

“Work,” Stannis grumbled, stepping back and taking a look at his brother.

He hadn’t seen Robert for almost three years, as his brother was spending almost all his time between Storm’s End and Casterly Rock, and Stannis was living in the capital as the Hand of the King. Well, Robert has aged a bit and even gained some weight (that's what Stannis was quite concerned, taking into account Robert's character), but in the end, his brother almost didn't change at all. The position of the Lord of Storm's End was having a good effect on him.

Sometimes Stannis was quietly wondering what could happen if things went like was planned initially - Robert would become the King, Stannis would get Dragonstone for himself, and Jon Arryn would stay in King's Landing and serving as Robert's Hand. Most probably Robert would be easily taken by the freedom which King possessed, giving almost everything in the hands of Jon and the rest of the Small Council. He would start spending more time in the company of wine, food, and random wenches, and in the couple of years he wouldn't fit in his armour. And his wife - well, if he still married Cersei, of course, - she would take some things in her hand and had too much influence on their children, making Joffrey true Lannister with all expected results. His nephew wasn't the perfect heir of the Storm's End, but the role of the crown prince would turn him to a monster, Stannis was more than sure about it.

Luckily, Robert didn't become the King and was spending more of his time on parenting and his lands, and Joffrey was not as bad as he could become - at least that's what Stannis observed three years ago while visiting his brother.

Many people all over Westeros (mostly some Lords and other members of nobility) sometimes were cursing that day when smallfolk had risen and in the end, a Lord who was just a simple son of a kennel master at the moment of his birth was made a ruler of the realm.

Stannis blessed that day from all his heart.

Well, maybe not straight away, at the beginning he was sceptical enough about this decision. That was the main reason why he decided to offer Lord Clegane his help and service, and in the end, was named the Hand. Jon Arryn, with all his experience and wisdom, was named one of the closest advisors and Master of Coin - even if he was spending part of his time in the Vale. Eddard Stark didn't get any position in the Small Council, but as the Warden of the North he was always close to the Council and King, and after some years even developed some sort of friendship with late King. And Robert, who was offered a position of the Master of Ships, had spent only a couple of months on this position - and then left to the Storm's End together with his betrothed, Cersei Lannister, who soon became his wife and later gave birth to their three children. 

Everything went much better than Stannis was expecting and fearing by the end of Robert's rebellion.

And now his brother was here, looking much better than Stannis' imagination was sometimes depicting. 

"But I am truly glad to see you here, brother," he bowed his head and Robert laughed.

"Well, looks like the years of being called the Hand made you rough like a skin," he chuckled at his joke. "By the way, what do you think about the current events - what are your predictions on Clegane's decision about his Hand?" 

“I have no idea,” Stannis shrugged. “If he will ask me to stay and serve as his Hand - I will stay. If he will ask someone else - it’s fine, but I will still try to help him with some bits of advice when needed. After all, the future of the realm will be in Sandor’s hands - and he will need some help with making it as best as possible. Especially taking into account the fact that he wasn’t too interested in the role of the future King and didn’t learn enough to start ruling straight away.”

Robert sweep eyes over his brother, then rubbed his chin - and laughed.

“You know, Stannis, if someone told me many years ago that you will be willingly serving to someone who isn’t from our family, I would laugh at that joke for ages. But you’ve changed.”

“So did you,” Stannis sighed. “And I hope, to the better side.”

“Cersei doesn’t think so,” Robert snorted. “Well, I can say the same thing regarding my wife too. Honestly, I’ll never understand why I accepted the offer from old Tywin - after all, he was always trying to get for his daughter the highest match as possible - and of course, she started to act as a Queen in disguise the next morning after our wedding.”

Stannis remembered that pack of letters from Tywin Lannister about the betrothal proposal between his daughter and the newly crowned King, and felt a little disgusting feeling creeping into him.

“Well, sometimes things just happen,” he mumbled.

Robert sighed.

“Anyway,” he put his hands on his hips. “I was told by almost everyone in this keep that you are spending too much time on your duties. I mean, we don’t even have a proper King - but you work as if there is a horrible tyrant above you. The one who wants you working until the hour of the nightingale, you know.”

“There’s no one above me at the moment, and _that _is the reason why I am spending so much time in my tower. There is no ruler, my dear brother, and Sandor will be here only in ten days - or maybe eight, if the Seven will bless him with calm weather. But in his absence I should be taking over all issues of the realm, don’t be so stupid.”

“You should give some work to the Council as well,” Robert shrugged. “I have no idea what they are doing - alright, except for our Master of Ships. He sent you his regards, by the way. As well as Oberyn Martell.”

“Martell?” Stannis blinked. “What is he doing here already?”

“Arrived to attend the funeral ceremony, even despite the fact he and his family are not fond of Cleganes, you know that. Oh, and to bring Daenerys Targaryen here as well.”

Stannis frowned.

“Alright, but what on earth Daenerys Targaryen will be doing on the Royal Funerals? Happily watching as the person who took the Throne after her father is lying there stone-cold?”

“Really, Stannis?” his brother looked at him astonishingly. And then he started to laugh. “Well, trust me, I could never imagine before that the most perfect Hand of the King is unaware of certain things happening in the capital - but here we are!”

“Stop it, Robert,” Stannis cut off his laugh. “Just explain it to me. Please.”

“Ned had simply fulfilled the wish of our late friend Kastor, that’s it. Oberyn and Daenerys Targaryen are here to meet Sandor of House Clegane and discuss with him potential betrothal. That’s all.”

And then Robert snorted again.

Stannis was considering himself calm and self-disciplined person. After all, it was his job to calmly sort different types of issues without the desire to kill or imprison someone.

But at this moment he was quite certain of the fact that if Ned Stark was present in the room, he would gladly kick him downstairs.

And happily laughing Robert would follow.

  
  


***

  
  


The first thing Sandor heard after he made himself comfortable on the tiny wooden bench in his secret corner, was a loud thumping of the large paws. After a short moment, Sansa Stark’s direwolf appeared out of nowhere and started to whine, yap, and even tried to jump a bit closer to him than she usually did - as if she wanted to lick Sandor’s face. He grimaced and moved aside, reaching his hand out and patting Lady, as if he tried to calm her down.

Luckily, it worked. The direwolf made a tiny whine again and curled on the floor next to his legs, taking almost all available space between Sandor and a small table where he put his flagon before.

So, no more wine for him tonight. Or at least beast’s mistress will take her back to their tiny cabin.

Speaking of mistress - there was a new sound now, a sound of bare feet on the wooden floor. Sansa Stark came to visit him again, trying to be as quiet as possible.

It was kind of funny that Sandor, who preferred to spend more time in the training yard than learning the ways of a ruler, wasn’t able to recognise someone’s steps last night. Oh, he was caught unawares, and when the little Lady almost sat on him in the darkness, Sandor almost freaked out. He wanted to bark and politely ask that unknown wench to bugger off, but then she mumbled her apologies, and Sandor recognised her voice. And from what he learned about Sansa Stark, he was more than positive that she would not act as a serving wench. Or like another high-born lady who wouldn’t miss her chances to seduce the crown prince and get laid straight away in the darkness of this corner.

But Sansa Stark was a _proper _lady, so he decided to spend some time with her. She told him that she wasn’t a lady, and Sandor started to reassure her straight away. He even briefly mentioned all these wenches and pretty mummers he was so tired off, but Sansa Stark had it her way.

And then Sandor asked if she would want to come to sit with him at night again. He had never asked any woman to spend time with him - well, apart from the ancient times when he was an unwieldy lad who was trying to befriend the cook’s daughter from his father’s keep. He wasn’t so lucky that time (the girl was always screwing up her features when she saw his scars), but Sansa Stark decided to join him again. Luckily, there was enough space on the wooden bench left.

Most probably she just wasn’t able to see his face properly in the darkness, and Sandor was hoping he was a more or less decent company for a young lady - but she came to see him nevertheless.

“Good afternoon, _Sandor_,” she quietly chirped after she made herself comfortable.

Lady turned her hand to her mistress side and made a quiet bark, as if she was trying to whisper as well.

Sandor grumbled some greetings as well.

It became a little bit awkward after that exchange. Sansa Stark was sitting and looking somewhere in front of her, deep in her thoughts, and Sandor was just sitting and thinking about nothing. From time to time he was slightly bending down and patting Lady’s head, or scratching her behind her ear, or even rubbing on her neck. Lady was loudly breathing in response, but didn’t make any other sound. Probably, she decided to take it after her mistress.

Sandor didn’t know much time had passed since Sansa Stark’s appearance, but at some point it started to look as he was sitting with her by his side for hours already. Lady was already getting tired of his caresses and even started to growl weakly with each new touch, so Sandor decided to stop paying any attention to this beast.

Most probably it was time for him to leave.

But as soon as he started to rise from his place, Sansa Stark’s fingers suddenly clung to the sleeve of his tunic.

“I wanted to talk to you,” she quietly whispered, and Sandor wasn’t able to suppress a loud snort.

“We are sitting here for ages now, why did you decide to talk to my only now?”

“I don’t know,” Sansa Stark shrugged and looked at him. “Maybe I had to start to talk to you earlier - but I just don’t want to leave without any word.”

“Alright,” Sandor sighed and fell back on the bench. “So, what do you want to talk to me about?”

“I don’t know,” Sansa Stark repeated. She looked sullen, as if a tired bird decided to ruffle up its feathers. “But I just want to…”

“To talk, I understood,” Sandor cut her off with a heavy sigh. “Well, I don’t think we could talk about the weather - after all, we are both spending our days inside the cabins. But I don’t have much idea of what young ladies are usually talking about.”

“About some inessential things - unless they are Ladies of their keeps or castles. But I don’t want to spend this time talking about some dull things, you know.”

“We can talk about the catechism of the Seven, if you don’t like to spend your time on _dull _things,” Sandor laughed again, hoping he wasn’t offending this strange girl with his remark.

He didn’t - quite opposite, Sansa Stark had averted her gaze, but Sandor was able to catch a little chuckle from her.

Well, at least he knew how to make ladies laugh.

“Well, I can ask you something if you want,” he offered. “You know, like one question - but you will have to answer to it honestly. So maybe then I will be able to understand you a bit better.”

Sansa Stark frowned for a second - but then looked back at him. Straight into his eyes.

“You can,” she nodded. “But only if I will be able to ask you one question as well.”

“Deal,” Sandor snorted. “And if it will be funny enough, we could do the same tomorrow, just raise the number of questions to two. And then to three. And continue like this until we finally will be off this bloody ship.”

“Deal,” Sansa Stark agreed. She was looking too serious for this funny thing Sandor had come up with.

“Then I’ll go first,” he stretched out and groaned a little - after all, spending some time on this tiny bench wasn’t good for his body. “So tell me, my did you decide to name your beast Lady if you don’t like all that shit?”

“You got it wrong,” she shook her head. “It’s just about me - I cannot be a proper lady, so I don’t want to _be _the one. Well, not really - I want to be a lady, but…”

“Alright, fine, it’s too much,” Sandor jumped in her mumbling, his head hurting from trying to figure out what _exactly _Sansa Stark was meaning. “So, about your direwolf?”

“Oh,” there was a tiny shade of a smile in her voice now. “You know, when father brought all pups from the forest, I had my eyes for her straight away. She was so tiny, and so cute, and was whining and trying to bark, even if she didn’t know who to do it correctly - but at the same time, she was the most behaved pup from all of them. Like a proper little lady, so I decided to call her so. Anyway, at that time I was sure that being a lady was the best thing ever, and having a pet who will help you to become the one would be so lovely, but then…”

“Let me guess, but then your father announced your betrothal?”

Sansa Stark nodded.

“He did,” she answered lowering her gaze, as if she didn’t want even to think about it - but then she shook up and looked back at Sandor. “Oh, so it’s now my turn, I guess?”

Sandor nodded.

“Go on.”

Sansa Stark chewed on her lip as if she trying to pick the subject which was the most disturbing one for her.

“Well,” she started, sounding unsure. “When we talked yesterday, you mentioned that you had enough of women dancing attendance on you…”

“_ What _?”

“You did,” she continued. “And I just wanted to ask you - well, I know you mentioned they were looking for some sort of profit from being with you, but have you ever liked any of them?”

Sandor cursed through clenched teeth.

Well, he had to guess she will start talking about some romantic shit, even if she was quite different from the rest of the women he met.

“The last time I liked a girl was when I was a second son of the Lord of small keep in Westerlands, and that’s all what you need to know about it,” he grumbled.

Sansa Stark looked a bit downhearted.

“So, you were with these women - and you didn’t feel anything?”

“Oh, come on!” Sandor hissed. “Firstly, you should know at your age that the majority of men are looking at life from a different angle than women.”

“And secondly?” she looked curious.

“Secondly, it’s too complicated and I don’t even want to talk about this shit anymore,” Sandor grunted, turning his head to the side.

Why on the earth this girl decided to stick to that particular subject?

“But our deal…”

“Our deal was about one question and one honest answer. I gave you my answer and don’t want to talk about all these… _women _anymore.”

“But…”

“And I am a future King, so I can do whatever I like, right?” he snorted.

Luckily, Sansa Stark decided to take it as a joke as well.

“Fine,” she smiled and rubbed her eyes. “I guess, it’s time to retreat now?”

“Exactly,” Sandor nodded and stood up. “Two questions tomorrow, then. And remember - no rubbish about women, fine?”

Sansa Stark was quiet for some seconds as if she was thinking about his words - but in the end, she nodded. There was that serious flame in her eyes again.

Sandor bowed his head in farewell and, grabbing his flagon from the wooden table, retreated to his cabin.

Some gulps of not the worst wine won’t hurt before he will drift to his sleep, that’s what Sandor was pretty sure of.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> will Sansa get more private details from Sandor?  
will Lady bite off someone's hand during the third night?  
will Stannis literally kick someone downstairs?  
vote now on your phones!


	6. In which Ned Tries to Convince Sandor for the Marriage (Sandor is not Impressed)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So here's a chapter in which Ned and Sandor are talking, talking, talking, and nothing really happens. Apart from talking.

Ned decided to pay a visit to young Clegane straight after breakfast. He walked Sansa back to her cabin and promised to bring some books from his chest later on. Then he walked down the hall and knocked to the Clegane's door.

There was a silence at first, but in a couple of moments, Ned heard some muffling sounds which followed by heavy steps in the door's direction.

  
  


"Lord Sandor," he greeted the crown prince.

Sandor Clegane simply nodded and stepped aside to let Ned in. He looked too grumpy for his usual self, and there were dark circles under his eyes as if he didn't get enough sleep last night. Or drank before going to bed. Or both.

"Is there anything important you want to discuss, Lord Stark?" he asked, pointing to the small chair. Clegane seated himself on the end of his bed and crossed hands on his chest.

"Just wanted to make sure everything goes well and you are enjoying your journey," Ned explained. "We don't see you on the deck, to be honest."

"You could already figure out that I want to spend some time on my own," Clegane snorted. "I don't like to be a centre of attention, plus people usually grieve when they are losing the last member of their family."

"But your father wasn't the last one." 

"He _was_," Sandor Clegane grunted. "My mother passed away months after the last time she gave birth. My sister died when she wasn't even five. And I've recently lost my father. I bet you know the history of my family quite well even without my explanations, Lord Stark."

"And your brother…"

"He's gone."

"Yes," Ned nodded. "He was sent to the exile by Lord Kastor. But Lord Sandor, we didn't receive any news about him since then, he still might be…"

"He's _gone_, Lord Stark," Clegane's voice was sharper than the Ice. "And that's leaving me the last member of Clegane family."

Ned sighed. Well, he was quite happy too that Kastor had enough courage to exile his own firstborn, but there was nothing strange at all. When the new king announced that there will be a trial for his own son's crimes held at the High Court almost straight after the coronation ceremony, Ned and the others were shocked. Yes, he knew about the war crimes committed by the young man everyone called the Mountain, including the murder of Targaryen infants, but what was revealed during the process was even more devastating. Gregor Clegane murdered his little sister. Made an almost successful attempt to get rid of his father and call it a "hunting accident". And the story of his attitude towards younger brother made Ned speechless. He could never imagine Brandon beating and hurting him on every possible occasion. Or him trying to burn Benjen alive because of some ridiculous reasons.

The Mountain appeared to be even more dangerous person, and as soon as he was sent to the exile, Ned couldn't hide his relief that they won't have that twisted and cruel man as their next King.

"I understand your grief, Lord Sandor,” he sighed. “But in several days we will be arriving at King’s Landing, and everyone will be expecting more attention to your duties and participation in the court’s life. It will be quite difficult for you to retreat on each possible occasion trying to mask it as a grief. And I am more than sure that you are hiding in this cabin because of completely different reasons.”

Sandor Clegane rolled his eyes up.

“Please, Lord Stark, don’t start lecturing me about all this court rubbish, I had enough talks and lessons from my father’s Hand every time I was present in the Red Keep.’’

“I won’t,” Ned nodded reassuringly. “You know, I just wanted to check on you and make sure you will be ready to see all your duties as a King in waiting. It will be a matter of months before you will be crowned and have all Westerosi lands under your control. Or maybe even weeks, we will have to check with Stannis on our arrival how the things are going in the capital now.”

“Hopefully it will be months,” Clegane grunted. “I am not eager to sit on this bloody throne that quickly.”

“We will see, after all - it’s too early to make any plans now, we need to talk to Stannis first. Maybe he had already planned a day for the ceremony.”

“Hopefully he didn’t.”

“From the other side,” Ned locked his fingers. “At least this will give us enough time to sort your betrothal even before your coronation day, and…”

“I had to predict you will change the subject to that shit,” Clegane snorted. “And taking into account that we are sitting in a small cabin, and the door is too far away for me, I don’t have any other choice than to listen to your _ perfectly planned _ ideas?”

“Well, I honestly came here without any intention to discuss this issue,” Ned smirked. “But if we are going in the direction of this conversation, why shouldn’t we talk about it?”

“Maybe because I don’t want to?”

“You will be a King soon, Lord Sandor. And you will need to learn how to listen to any sort of things people will be coming to you with. You can consider it as training.”

Sandor Clegane didn’t answer. But his facial expression told everything Ned needed to know.

“Yes, I know that you aren’t really happy with the prospect to get married so quickly, but that was the will of your father, after all. He wanted to see you with a wife by your side, a strong and wise wife who will be able to become a good and loyal Queen one day.”

“And you decided that Targaryen girl is the best choice?” the crown prince snorted. “Gods, from what I remember, she might be strong - but not so sure about her wisdom. After all, she grew up with Martells who were fussing over her as much as they could. I bet they still do so, even if she is older now.”

“You saw her last time years ago,” Ned shook his head. “She was just a child at that time, and now she is a lady grown. As far as I know, Martells were not just fussing over her - they also made sure she is properly educated and knows even more than a usual lady of her age.”

“Please don’t tell me you planned this bloody betrothal ages ago.”

“I didn’t. But we always knew that one day she will get married to someone from a noble house - she is a Targaryen, after all. Luckily, even with the death of her family she still was able to feel love and care from someone else.”

“Which still doesn’t mean she is as strong and wise as my father wanted,” Clegane snorted again. “Spare me, Lord Stark, but I think your idea is too far from the perfect one. Plus, let me kindly remind you again that girl’s family had suffered from my brother’s hands - do you think it will be wise to make her live with a reminder of Gregor’s cruelties straight by her side for the rest her poor life?”

“It still doesn’t mean that you won’t be able to live happily and fall in love with each other one day.”

“In the name of bloody Hells!” Clegane cursed. “Lord Stark, I know that my father highly respected you, and that you want to fulfil his wish, and that you care about me as well - but this whole idea is a total piece of rubbish. Take any other woman - for Stranger’s sake, take even your daughter, - but every other person than Daenerys Targaryen will make a much better match for the role of my wife.”

“Oh, so you have someone on your mind after all…”

“Not at all,” Clegane snapped. “And there’s no way I will decide to get married in the next years. At all.”

“I am pretty sure you will change your mind one day, Lord Sandor,” Ned allowed himself a small smile - but it didn’t work on Sandor Clegane at all.

“Don’t think so,” he grunted. “Unfortunately, I was able to work out that all these women from our lovely court are full of rubbish. All of them would be happily get my cloak and jump into my bed, but none of them will do so because of _me_. My name, my throne - yes, but the rest won’t matter for them.”

“Not every marriage happened because of love, you should know about it.”

“I’m not talking about love,” Clegane shrugged. “Just a simple care will be enough. After all, who could ever ask for love when you’ve got such a pretty face as I do?”

“You never know what could happen in our lives.”

Clegane snorted.

“Lord Stark, I am not a fool,” it looked like he was in a good mood now. Well, if it could be possible for a conversation like this. “I know what women usually want from me. Don’t think that one of them will suddenly have opposite and honest wishes regarding me and our possible marriage.”

Ned sighed. It was so difficult for him to get the point of a stubborn Sandor Clegane - but from the other side, he could understand his main concern. Sandor Clegane didn’t have a happy and loving family, even after his and Kastor’s relationships had improved a little bit, he still grew up too distant from the others and without enough care. Ned had also heard a lot about Clegane’s relationships with women - he couldn’t say it was a perfect and the most precise information and not the rumours, but none of the ladies who claimed she had spent the night with the crown prince had ever got any sign of affection from him. Maybe because Sandor Clegane was right and all women wanted to get their profit from him. Or maybe he just didn't want to take things seriously.

And that was quite concerning for Ned.

Well, of course, Sandor Clegane could turn down all betrothal offers, spend his life as a single and grumpy King, and then one day die - and leave the realm in an utter chaos: without the proper heir, without the clear image of the future, maybe even without the future completely.

He had heard once (Ned didn’t even recall who told him so) that chaos was a ladder. Well, it was a mistake. Chaos wasn’t a ladder, it had a huge human form, scarred face, and was called Sandor.

“Lord Sandor, but you will have to make a decision one day,” he sighed, standing up from his chair. “The realm won’t wait for your marriage, there could be some political issues, maybe even small rebellions when people will start to understand that there won’t be a proper heir - some will decide to take it as a chance and overthrow you.”

“They could try,” Clegane shrugged. “Don’t think they will have any sort of success in their attempts.”

“Then they will try to overthrow the person whom you will name the next King. The result might be the same - chaos, war, and blood. Even more blood than we saw during Robert’s and smallfolk's’ rebellions altogether.”

Sandor Clegane looked at him with a completely unreadable expression.

“We can’t predict the future, Lord Stark,” he replied, his voice plain. “So there’s no need to run around panicking and making impulsive decisions.”

“You are right,” Ned nodded. “But still - please, at least meet Daenerys at the private audience. The delegation from Dorne should be in King’s Landing by the time we will arrive there - at least I hope so. Just one simple meeting, one proper discussion - and maybe you will change your mind.”

“Don’t think so,” Sandor snorted, lying down on his bed as if telling Ned he didn’t want to take part in this conversation anymore.

“I’ll see you later,” Ned bowed and walked out.

He hoped that being back to deck will sort his mind at least for a bit - but even the fresh air and bright sun didn’t help him to feel better. His head was full of thoughts about stubborn heirs, betrothals, people who were looking for marriage to improve their lives and not to make themselves and someone else happy - Ned was so confused. At this moment he wasn’t even being able to tell what was right and what was wrong. And what was proper, of course.

He wanted to go and get some rest, but as soon as he opened his cabin the promise to bring Sansa more books had appeared in his mind. Ned carefully selected the ones he thought Sansa will like (to be honest, he was much better when it came to Arya’s tastes), and walked to her door.

He knocked, and there was Lady’s happy bark straight away. All six direwolves were fairly devoted to their masters, but they grew up learning to respect Ned too.

Sansa thanked him. She looked happy and more rested than she was during the breakfast (at least the dark circles under her eyes, almost like Clegane ones, had disappeared), and Ned was hoping she is enjoying her time on the ship more than Sandor Clegane did. At least his stay in the cabin was a choice, while Sansa had to do so only because it was asked from her - she was a young lady, after all. No one would approve her spending her days in the company of rough sailors or sly merchants, so as soon as they boarded days ago, Ned had explained to Sansa that it was for her good to stay in her cabin as long as it was possible.

Hopefully, it will be much better for her in King’s Landing. At least she will be free walking around the Red Keep, there will be enough young ladies of her age, and she will finally meet Joffrey. These things should brighten up her spirit, Ned was completely sure of it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> nothing special, but some things will be important in the future, yeah


	7. In which Sandor and Sansa Discuss their Betrothals, and Varys Makes a Confession

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, again: they are talking, talking, talking, blah-blah-blah, talki-- JESUS VARYS WHAT HAVE YOU DONE  
I'm still bad at writing letters (':

“Your father is an idiot.”

That was the first sentence Sansa heard as soon as she sat on a bench next to Sandor Clegane.

“I think I can understand your reasons for saying so,” she started, her voice cold and with some lecturing shadow. “But please, don’t try to mock him in front of me.”

“I am not mocking,” the crown prince said with a loud sigh. “But he came to me today and tried to persuade me to get married to that Targaryen girl. Again. Today he decided that threatening me with wars and rebellion in case I won’t get married will be effective on me and I’ll surrender straight away.”

“But you didn’t, right?”

Sandor Clegane shook his head, and Sansa smiled.

“Good. You know, if at least one of us will be able to point to my father the weakness of his betrothal idea we could consider it as a win.”

“When this ridiculous _we _had even appeared,” Clegane mumbled, and Sansa was unable not to laugh.

“I mean, our situations are kinda same. We are both betrothed, we are not so fond of this choice, and my father is the one who is behind our small issue.”

“Well, that’s fine,” Clegane nodded. “But Stark is your father, not mine. Why would you be happy to see me breaking my betrothal while you will be married and bedded by that Joffrey?”

“Because I have already explained it to you, _ Sandor_,” she sighed and lowered her sight to her hands. “Because Eddard Stark is my father, I should play a part of a dutiful daughter and be happy to accept any betrothal he will choose for me.”

“And I have already explained to you that you are a rubbish mummer,” Sandor Clegane snorted. “I mean, alright - I won’t be trying to change your mind, but I bet you will be more than happy to escape that marriage hell yourself as soon as you will meet Joffrey Baratheon.”

“Father says I should be doing well as a Lady of a Storm’s End,” Sansa answered quietly. “I need to trust him, but I don’t think I will be doing well. At all.”

“Do you think you will be happier somewhere in the North? Or maybe in King’s Landing?”

“Maybe I could be happier,” she sighed, her brows narrowed. “You know, that was my destiny since I was born - to become a Lady of some castle or keep. And I learned to be happy about this future. Maybe even the title of Lady of Storm’s End wouldn’t be so horrifying for me if it was about someone else and not Joffrey.”

Sandor Clegane scratched his chin.

“Well, when I will be a King I could legitimise one of old Baratheon’s bastards who will be considered as an older brother of Joffrey - and then the Storm’s End will be inherited by someone else. And you will still become its Lady - but your husband will be much better and stronger than that weakling.”

Sansa was quiet for some seconds, and then she laughed. Quietly, but laughed.

“It won’t work like this, Sandor,” she said with a sad smile in her voice. “Even if Joffrey will be suddenly stripped of all his titles and lands, my father will still insist on marrying me to him. Because that’s what he promised to his old friend. And I think that by this time you got to know my father even better than during your brief encounters in the court. If he has an idea he thinks is the best one - he will do anything to make it true.”

“Unfortunately, I got,” Sandor sighed as well. “Gods, he told me today that my marriage with a girl whose family was partially killed by my kin will become a happy one as we will suddenly fall in love. What a pathetic idiot, the father of yours.”

“Sandor…”

“Alright, I am sorry,” he sighed again. “But that’s my current opinion of him. Maybe I will change it one day, maybe not - everything depends on Ned Stark.”

“I hope you will. Father isn’t a bad person at all, he’s just too… dedicated to some things sometimes.”

“It’s not a bad trait at all, but not when the subject of his dedication could harm his daughter.”

“I will have to deal with it,” Sansa shrugged. “Who knows, maybe I will be lucky enough and my dear husband will pass away quite shortly after our marriage. Or maybe he won’t, but if I will play a role of an uninterested and passive lady wife in our marriage bed he will get tired of me soon and I will be able to live an easy life as a Lady of the castle.”

Sandor Clegane barked in a laugh.

“That’s a bloody Joffrey Baratheon we are talking about,” he shook his head. “Not some lordling who doesn’t care about his wife, or his husband duties, or anything that is happening in his keep at all.”

“And what is the difference?” Sansa asked, her voice tense.

What she had heard about Joffrey Baratheon before was something what rumours had brought to the Winterfell from the long distance. Sansa didn’t like these rumours at all, and the whole idea to become a wife of a person who was cruel to his siblings, had his mind, and didn’t listen to anyone apart of his mother and grandfather (and sometimes father, but Sansa suspected that it was just a mummery from Joffrey’s side). But these stories were rumours, and Sansa didn’t know if she had to trust them completely. On the other hand, there was her father who had met Joffrey in person before - and according to Ned Stark, there wasn’t something important to worry about the son of his best friend.

She heard two opposite opinions on Joffrey Baratheon, and her mind was not sure what to make out of all the information she had.

But now she was talking to Sandor Clegane - and he had met Joffrey quite often. He had called Joffrey a weakling. A coward, a cruel man, and a weakling.

When she was a girl, Lord Stark had told her once that she will get a brave, gentle, and strong husband when she will grow up. Sansa, a sweet and naive girl, had asked her father if he will be handsome too, and Ned agreed with a laugh.

Joffrey Baratheon was nothing comparing to the man from her dreams. The only trait he possessed was his handsome face and fair hair - but Sansa would gladly prefer someone with an ugly face, but who could treat her with respect, gentleness, and maybe even love.

She was told for so many times that there are almost no betrothals in the world which were made of love. Sansa was grown enough now to agree with these words, but sometimes she was still hoping that her married life will be filled with something else than almost every woman in Westeros had.

And from what she had heard about Joffrey Baratheon, he was not capable of love.

She was distracted from her thoughts by the touch of Lady’s nose to her palm - and the warm hand of Sandor Clegane on her shoulder.

“You okay?” he asked, a small hint of concern in his voice.

Sansa eagerly nodded.

“I am sorry, I just got carried away by some things.”

Clegane sighed and put his hand back to his knees.

“I’m not sure what did you hear from my explanations, but I can tell you the most simplest thing: the betrothal with Joffrey Baratheon won’t do you any good, Lady Sansa. And if you think that he could lose his interest in you after some time, you are making a really big mistake here. You might be free from his attention and will your life to yourself, but I’m not sure if you will be happy to have a life like that at all.”

“And why so?”

“He will break you, girl.”

This time Sansa didn’t even correct him about not being a girl - she just stared at Sandor Clegane, her shoulders down and stare completely lost.

“I don’t know what should I do,” she whispered. “I need to be a good daughter and a proper lady of the North, but I just simply don’t know.”

Sansa didn’t realise her voice was shaking until the moment when Clegane’s hand squeezed her shoulder again. Lady by her side made a tiny whine and rested her big head on Sansa’s lap.

“Ask your father to call off this betrothal.”

“He won’t listen to me, you know that,” Sansa made a bitter laugh. “I love my father, you know - but sometimes it’s so difficult with him.”

“And why he won’t listen to you?”

“Did he change his mind regarding you and Daenerys after you tried to talk to him?”

“He didn’t,” Sandor Clegane confirmed with a sigh. “But I am a prince who is just a person he is trying to take care of - and you are his daughter.”

“Which makes things even more complicated. If he didn’t listen to the opinion of our future King, he won’t pay any attention to the words of his daughter at all.”

Sandor Clegane tapped his fingers straight on Sansa’s shoulder - which made her shiver and giggle a little bit.

“You know,” he started. “Your father asked me to meet Daenerys after we will arrive at King’s Landing and have at least one proper conversation with her. And then I will go back to him and express my disappointment about this audience, and will call this betrothal off.”

“And?”

“Maybe you should try to do the same with Joffrey? Just don’t express any more disapproval of your father’s actions, meet this prick, make sure he is a total jerk - and run to your father in tears asking to spare your destiny from becoming a prey of this rabid stag. And then you will be free.”

Sansa went quiet. From the one hand, it was a good and completely reasonable idea. At least she will get her first real impression of Robert Baratheon’s son, and if his wicked character will get out straight away, she could report it to her father immediately. Then, most probably, she will be betrothed to someone else straight away, but in Sansa’s opinion, no one could be worse than Joffrey himself.

From the other hand… Sansa sighed. She knew that her father was all about the honour and promises, and the agreement he made with Robert Baratheon years ago was really hard to break. It wasn’t only about the politics - the marriage alliance between the eldest Northern house and Storm’s End could play a huge part in the future of these lands, Sansa knew it. But it was mostly about the strong, iron-like bond between Eddard Stark and Robert Baratheon, who grew up together, fought side by side, and in the end decided that their houses should be connected not only in friendship, but also in marriage.

Especially after the whole story of Lyanna and Rhaegar.

“I can try,” she nodded. “But I don’t think my father will take my complaint seriously. He is too eager to marry me off to the Baratheons, and I am afraid that even having a proof of Joffrey’s cruelty he and Robert will be able to turn the tables and make me think that I have a too vivid imagination - and Joffrey did nothing wrong.”

“But you should try anyway,” Clegane squeezed her shoulder again. “One encounter with Joffrey won’t hurt you anyway - I don’t think this prick is stupid enough to hurt his possible betrothed before the wedding happens, he’s too weak and craven for something like this. And we can still hope that honourable Ned Stark won’t run away from the futile destiny of his favourite daughter if that mummery of marriage will happen.”

“I am not his favourite daughter,” Sansa laughed. “I mean, my father loves me, and cherishes me - but his favourite daughter is Arya. If not the most favourite child from all six of us.”

“Aren’t you jealous of her?” Sandor Clegane finally put away his palm and Sansa felt the cold wind on her shoulder straight away. “And what do you mean by six?”

“Not at all,” Sansa smiled. “The fact that he loves and cares about all of us is enough for me. The same is with mother, you know - she loves all of us, including Jon, but I think that Robb and Rickon are getting a bit more attention from her, comparing to the rest of us. But that’s completely normal. We are loved, cared of, have a full and happy family - and there’s no need for us to wish for something else.”

“I see,” Sandor Clegane said, sounding a bit distracted - Sansa remembered straight away that, unlike her and her siblings, he never had anything like this in his own family. “And the sixth one, I suppose, is Jon?”

“Jon,” Sansa nodded. “You know, he is considered as a bastard by everyone else, and sometimes people are judging my father because of it - but he isn’t the one.”

“What do you mean?”

Sansa looked around to make sure there’s no one around and leaned closer to Sandor Clegane.

“He is our cousin in fact,” she whispered. “Not a legitimate cousin, but it doesn’t matter for us - we have always considered him as our brother.”

“Not legitimate one?” Clegane repeated after her. “Is he one of early Brandon Stark’s bastards?”

“Not Brandon’s. Lyanna’s.”

“_ Excuse me _?” Sandor Clegane sounded too puzzled about this revelation that Sansa was not able to stay still and giggled again.

“Well, that’s something my father is never talking about to the others - but I think I can trust you enough. But promise me to keep it as a secret, alright?”

Clegane nodded.

“Jon is the only son of our aunt Lyanna,” Sansa whispered quieter than before. “And Rhaegar Targaryen.”

“Rhaegar _ who _?”

“Targaryen, but that’s something we need to keep a secret,” Sansa hushed. “Aunt Lyanna asked father to promise her that he will keep Jon’s secret from everyone apart him and Lord Reed - she feared that Lord Baratheon would kill him, you know.”

“But somehow you learned about this secret?”

“Father told us himself,” Sansa nodded. “Well, not exactly - at first he was hiding it from everyone, and mother was feeling betrayed when father returned to Winterfell with a boy he claimed his son, and felt too distant and cold towards little Jon. But then the smallfolk’s rebellion happened, and Lord Kastor was named the King - and there was no need for our father to hide the truth about Jon at least from his own family anymore. He still doesn’t want to share this secret with anyone else, but our mother and the rest of my siblings are aware of who Jon is. We tried to call him our cousin, but it didn’t work - he is our brother in truth.”

“That’s good for you,” Sandor Clegane nodded. “I mean, when you are so eager to call someone your brother.”

His voice was full of pain, and now it was Sansa’s turn to put her small palm on Clegane’s shoulder and squeeze it gently.

“That man was not worthy to be called your brother, or Lord Kastor’s son. And he is not here anymore, right?”

“Right.”

“You know, I will follow your advice, Sandor. I’m still not sure if my father will listen to my thoughts and pleads, but maybe, just maybe he will change his opinion about my future.”

“We need to pray to all the Seven for it,” Sandor snorted. “And to your Old Gods as well. We need more divine help to change the mind of good old Ned Stark.”

“But what are you going to do with Daenerys?”

“Pardon?”

“I mean,” Sansa chewed on her lower lip. “You are going to meet her and then make a decision, right?”

“Exactly,” Clegane nodded. “I will spend some time with her, talk to her - and then will go to your father with peace of mind and tell him that, as a crown prince and future protector of the realm, I am making my decision to call this ridiculous betrothal off.”

“But what if you will like her?”

“I don’t think so,” he snorted, but Sansa was still deep in her thoughts.

“But what if my father was right and you will be able to find the common ground with Daenerys - and then fall in love with her?”

“Then I will act as needed in a situation like this. Probably.”

Sandor Clegane’s voice was sounding a bit unsure, as if he had no idea at all about what he had to do with a woman he found interesting. Sansa shrugged and nodded to his answer.

“And then the future of the realm will be sorted,” she quietly whispered, but Clegane just shook his head.

“Your words sound sweet - but I doubt it will be possible for me and Daenerys Targaryen to find the said common ground and live happily forever.”

“And why so?”

“Let’s see,” Sandor clapped his hands together. “We don’t know each other. And there is too complex history of our families. And she is a spoiled girl raised in the sunny Dorne with dozens of servants running around her, and you know who I am. Besides,” he took a pause and snorted. “Besides, she a tiny fragile creature, almost two heads shorter than you - which brings us to the point that our wedding night might end up with a bathetic funeral scene for the Queen of the realm. You know, right?”

Sansa blinked at his words in a total silence - and then burst out laughing like mad.

“Then there’s no way you should marry her,” she mumbled between her laughs. “You know, I don’t think it will be fair enough for a new King to start his reign with a wilful murder.”

“Why wilful one?”

“Because you knew that this nuisance could happen - and still didn’t call your betrothal off,” Sansa answered in a hortative tone, and Sandor Clegane just snorted in reply.

Lady made a disapproving bark, as if not being able to understand what was the reason which made both humans laugh. Sometimes Sansa was sure that her beloved direwolf was more than sure that people around her were duller than the animals.

Well, she wasn’t completely wrong.

* * *

“And what was the reason you woke me up at the hour of the bat?” Stannis growled, his eyes hurting from the fire he lighted up in his solar.

“You know that I am serving the realm, Lord Stannis?” Master of Whisperers started, sitting in a comfortable chair in front of him.

“I think only small infants are not aware of your doings,” Stannis shrugged, but Varys just shook his head.

“That’s not what I mean. I am serving the realm - I’ve done it before you brother’s rebellion, I served him for that period he was sitting on the Throne, and I was helping our late King as well.”

“And?”

“And as a proper servant of the realm, I was always trying to be sure that my actions were focused on what was the best for the whole Westeros - even if it could be something the current ruler won’t approve.”

“So?”

“When Robert’s forces reached the capital, I decided to protect the heir to the throne.”

“Which means you made a rubbish job,” Stannis shrugged again. “After all, Rhaegar was killed by Robert himself.”

“I’m not talking about Rhaegar now,” Varys cut him off. “But Aegon.”

“Who also was killed by Lannister’s men.”

“Well, he wasn’t.”

“_ Pardon _?”

Varys sighed.

“We decided to protect the heir of Rhaegar - after all, he was in line to the Iron Throne as well. He was swapped for another infant, and taken away from the Westeros before someone could kill him and leave our realm without the true heir.”

“And what,” Stannis coughed and frowned. “What happened to Aegon?”

“We hid him across the sea.”

“What do you mean by _ we _?”

“Me and Illyrio Mopatis,” Varys explained. “I’m sure you know this name.”

“I do, but how could that man take proper care of an infant and raise him?” Stannis pinched the bridge of his nose. “I’m not talking about the money and stuff - but from what I know about this man, he wouldn’t make a great foster father for anyone.”

“And he wasn’t raising the young Aegon. Jon Connington did.”

“Jon Connington is dead.”

“He isn’t,” Varys sighed again, and now it was his turn to frown. “It was just a rumour that he drank himself to death. With the rumour spreading like a fire, not a soul would try to find him and see what he was doing - and that exactly what me and Illyrio needed. Back then.”

Stannis closed his eyes and tried to put all these new things together.

“Back then I believed that it would be the best option for the realm,” Varys continued. “I beg your pardon, Lord Stannis, but I never believed that your brother could make a proper King, so I had to have a fallback which could work better for the realm than Robert Baratheon or his heirs. Then another rebellion happened and we got another King - the first year of Lord Kastor being the protector of the realm was quite questionable for me, and I decided to proceed with my plan - that was exactly the time when we met Jon Connington and gave Aegon to him. But then things went in a completely different way.”

“And what do you mean by this?”

“Lord Kastor was doing well. Of course, some noble families were not so happy to see a kennel master’s son on the Throne, but things in the realm were going quite smoothly - even the smallfolk looked satisfied with the outcome of their rebellion. Plus, we had Lord Sandor as the heir - and after a couple of years, I have decided that I don’t need that fallback anymore. I wrote several letters to Jon telling him about the reign of King Kastor, offered him and Aegon to come back to King’s Landing - or maybe join Daenerys and Viserys in Dorne - but there was no reply from him at all.”

“I see,” Stannis sighed. “This story is very interesting, and I cannot say that, as a Hand of the King, I am brightened up by your actions - but what was the whole point of this story? I don’t look like the High Septon. Besides, he would listen to your confession decently, unlike me.”

“I’ve finally received a letter from Jon Connington tonight. The news of Lord Kastor’s death had reached him and young Aegon.”

Stannis froze on his place.

“And?..”

“And they are planning to come back to King’s Landing as soon as it will be possible for them. Unfortunately, not to join us for the funerals or to greet new King,” Varys took a piece of paper from his robe and handed to Stannis.

It was a really small piece of paper, the parchment was made somewhere far away from Westeros - its texture was much softer, and its colour was darker than the one they usually used in Westeros.

“To the Usurper King and his court,” Stannis read aloud. “On behalf of the true Prince Aegon, I, Jon Connington, ask you to make a willing step-down and surrender. The Iron Throne belongs to the Targaryen family, and with the help from our supporters and the Golden Company we are on our way to King’s Landing to see the coronation of the prince that was promised. Please make a wise choice.”

Varys sighed again.

“And no signature or regards, what a bloody prick,” Stannis grumbled, re-reading the whole short letter again. “Tell me, Lord Varys, what exactly did you write to Connington years ago?”

“Just a simple explanation of the current situation - that smallfolk decided they didn’t want to see any noble person above them. That Daenerys and Viserys were safely shipped back to Westeros and remained with Martells - Aegon’s closest living relatives, by the way. That it would be much better to keep the current reign and there was no need for him to hide with Aegon. After all, there was no harm coming to them from Lord Kastor.”

“And his first reply arrived just now?”

“Exactly,” Varys nodded. “I have already sent him a raven explaining that it will be a very dull decision to fight with the King who has a support from the whole Westeros - hopefully, this letter will reach him soon.”

“Good,” Stannis nodded and stroke his chin. “Now, there is only one thing we need to take care of - except for strengthening our forces all over the sea borders, just in case.”

“I will report to the other members of Small Council about this issue,” Varys crossed his fingers. “And what are you going to do now?”

“We need to make sure that the Golden Company with another pretender won’t reach the ruleless lands,” Stannis answered. “Which means that the coronation of Sandor Clegane should be appointed on the next day after the Royal Funerals.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ;)  
i wanted to make this chapter much smaller, but my fingers had completely opposite idea...


	8. In which Stranger Finally Gets Some Attention

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Nothing's happening! (c)  
One last chapter of talking and doing really nothing before their arrival to the capital - and then the games will begin!

The next couple of days went quite well. Or, to be more precise, the next couple of nights.

Sansa was still spending almost all her days in a small cabin with Lady by her side. Sometimes she was joined by her father, sometimes they were going for a walk together. In Sansa's opinion, there was guilt in Eddard Stark's eyes every time he spoke to her, or when he was announcing that it was time for her to come back to her place. And it was really difficult for Sansa to be angry at him, after all, she completely understood his behaviour - but still. it was kind of… unfair. She was on a ship which belonged to one of the noblest houses of the North, the sailors were well-mannered and the captain was always trying to brighten her day every time he met her with her father, and even the merchants were always polite and didn't want to sell their goods to her or Lord Stark on every possible occasion, as lots of them usually did.

Plus, they were sharing this ship with the Prince, whose coronation was just a simple matter of months or even weeks now. For Sansa, all these things were enough to consider this ship a proper place for a young lady, but when she tried to explain to her father, he just shook his head and told her that it still won't be proper enough. Plus, if the story of Sansa running around sailors, merchants, and gods knew who else would reach Robert or his son, it would be a big deal for them and their opinion of Sansa will fall straight away. Well, after this statement Sansa has even considered to break all the rules straight away and free herself from the betrothal she never wanted, but then her father added that it will affect his reputation as well. So.

So Sansa had to obey and spend her days in her small cabin reading, talking to Lady, or just simply looking at the small round window thinking of how she was tired of Joffrey Baratheon's presence in her life even before they met each other.

But then the night would come, Lord Stark would wish his daughter good night and disappear in his cabin - and then it was a matter of an hour for Sansa to finally feel herself free.

She enjoyed spending these nights with Sandor Clegane. Maybe their first encounter wasn't the best one, but luckily it didn't affect their relationship, which Sansa dared to call a friendship.

She never had many friends, to be honest. When she was a young girl, she was spending her free time with all the others girls around her age who were living in Winterfell, but it was Jeyne Poole whose company she'd enjoyed the most. Then Sansa grew up, her parents decided that it wasn't the best idea for her to spend too much time with the girls whose status differed from hers as she needed even more time for all her lessons, and sweet Jeyne moved to live to a completely different place with her betrothed’s family. Well, her father was certain that Jeyne was still too young for a marriage, but gave his approval for her to move to the Iron Islands to get familiar with the surroundings and life of a future lady. After all, Theon wasn't the heir of his father's lands, but even being the bride of the youngest son of the Greyjoy family had its own rules. She and Sansa still were exchanging letters, but it wasn't the same as having a real friend by her side.

Sansa still had her siblings, but with the years passing, they started to become more distant from each other. Robb and Jon were living as young wards of other Houses, Bran was focused on his training and lessons, and Rickon was still too young to like his sister’s company very much. And Arya was Arya. Well, for the last couple of years their relationships had improved, especially after Sansa had shared her secret of wanting to rebel against her betrothal, and Arya had got her first _real _scolding for skipping her lessons and trying to sneak out from Winterfell and follow Jon to the Riverrun - but still, sometimes Arya’s company was too much for her.

And now there was Sandor Clegane. Well, maybe he wasn’t the _perfect _companion - sometimes was a bit too harsh (well, Sansa understood quite quickly that he wasn’t mean after all), who loved to make crude remarks and jokes (still funny ones, though), and who always rolled his eyes after some Sansa’s words (she started to do the same when the Crown Prince was saying something too ridiculous in her opinion) - but Sansa had truly enjoyed his company.

And that’s why the next couple of nights of her travel went quite well.

After the night the subjects of their betrothals were brought up, they were talking mostly about some more enjoyable stuff. Sandor Clegane told her about his obsession with his family pups at the times he was a little babe, and Sansa shared with him stories of her childhood and time she spent with her siblings. At first, she wasn’t really eager to spend time on such stories, keeping in mind the fact that Sandor Clegane could decide she is mocking him, but he kept asking and asking her questions about her childhood, so Sansa made up her mind and started to reveal some funny things from her early life.

One night Sandor Clegane asked if Sansa was ready for an adventure. Sansa chewed on her lip and nodded, and the next second Sandor had grabbed her wrist and dragged her along with him - somewhere to the stairs which led to the bottom inside area of the ship. Sansa only knew that the crew was using it for storage and carriage of large things, and her mind was not happy with the way of things, offering her some not pleasant images of _what _could happen to young ladies in places like those. But it was Sandor Clegane, and Sansa knew he won’t be able to do anything bad to her. And there was Lady by her side anyway, running behind them with her tongue rolled out, so Sansa just smiled and followed Sandor.

He brought her to the storage area. It was quite dark there, but Sandor dug out of nowhere a small lantern he lit up straight away.

“I thought the beast is too eager for some company,” he mumbled, making his way across large chests, numerous boxes, and even some piles of armours - until he stopped just steps from his huge warhorse.

He was a beast for sure, Sansa had a privilege to meet him for the first time when they were boarding this ship, and that time Stranger (Sansa had already learned his name and even heard some stories about his devilish behaviour) looked not impressed. Now he was just lazily observing his master and some strange creatures standing next to him and there was nothing in his stare except of deep boredom, so he returned to his hay almost straight away,

“If he will continue to spend his time in such way, there will be a black fat pony waiting for me when we will finally arrive at the bloody capital,” Sandor complained, putting lantern on one of the boxes.

Sansa giggled.

“He is too big to turn into a pony,” she answered.

“Then just a bloody fat horse which will make me stupid,” Sandor snorted. “I bet there will be a crowd waiting for this stupid ship near the wharf.”

“You can always pretend it belongs to someone else,” Sansa said, her voice full of dull seriousness, and Sandor Clegane snorted again.

“I can,” he nodded. “But that beast of a horse will never accept anyone else as his master. I mean, you certainly remember my stories about his love for juicy little fingers which belonged to poor stable boys across the whole Westeros.”

Stranger raised his head and stared at them again, his head full of deep thoughts, his mouth full of hay.

“You told me,” Sansa made a tiny step forward. “But I still think that every animal can be tamed.”

“Stranger is not a bloody every animal - at least that’s how he thinks of himself,” Sandor Clegane sighed and looked around. “Which means that most probably it’s time to brush him. Or he will become a _ curly _fat pony.”

The brush was sprawling somewhere in the dark corner (Sansa thought for a second that it was kicked there by Stranger himself), and Sandor had to bend down to get it back. He cursed under his breath, and Stranger made a loud snort, which sounded almost the same as his master’s?

“Do you want to brush him with me?” Sandor Clegane asked, facing Sansa with a smirk.

“And what about my fingers?”

“Your fingers are too delicate and fragile, and Stranger won’t be interesting in biting them off at all.”

Sansa giggled again (mainly because of his comment about her fingers), and made another step towards the warhorse. Sandor had already started to brush him with slow strokes, which made Stranger to stop his late dinner and stare into nothingness, some long straws sticking out from his lips.

“He is distracted now, so you can come even closer,” Sandor whispered, and Sansa made several quiet steps to stand by his side. Stranger didn’t react at her appearance at all, and Sansa felt a rush of enthusiasm flowing through her.

“Can I try?” she whispered in return after observing Sandor Clegane’s actions for some moments.

“You can,” he nodded and offered her Stranger’s brush. “Just make sure your movements aren’t too soft. Or he will suspect a royal treason.”

Sansa tried her best, for sure - but at the beginning, she was able to feel that Stranger’s body became too tense, as if he was thinking what sort of punishment he should choose for an intruder. But after feeling Sandor’s hand on his back he relaxed, made a muffled snort and returned to his hay as if nothing happened.

Sansa was hoping she will be able to do something nice with his mane as well, but Stranger started to huff loudly after the brushing was done, and so Sandor advised her they should leave his warhorse alone.

“I know you’re pissed off,” he mumbled into Stranger’s ear before parting. “But the captain said we will be arriving the morning after tomorrow. And then you will have your freedom back, I promise you.”

Stranger neighed quietly, and Sansa thought it was a quite sweet scene. Well, she liked to talk to Lady too, but this kind of sweet whispering ran counter to the whole image of Sandor Clegane. And of Stranger too, for sure. And that’s why she decided to stay quiet and not make any remark to the crown prince.

When they were on the deck again, Sansa stretched her hands and smiled.

“When I saw him for the first time I thought he was an angry horse.”

“He usually is, especially when on the battlefield,” Sandor shrugged. “It’s just the lack of space and laziness which are making him act as if he is a mummer’s horse.”

“He is quite nice,” Sansa giggled. “Plus, I don’t think mummers would take him with them - he’d scare off all their viewers!”

Sandor laughed quietly.

“He’d be just right to play the part of an actual Stranger. After all, we don’t know how these gods look like, so why one of them can’t have a head of a horse? And a body of a horse. And a fat too.”

It was quite a blasphemy - but Sansa laughed anyway.

“Oh,” she remembered then. “But are we arriving at King’s Landing so soon?”

“Our captain said so to me this morning,” Sandor shrugged. “Hope he wasn’t lying.”

“But these are the good news!” Sansa smiled. “I know you might be not happy to go back to the life at the Red Keep, but at least there won’t be no need to hide in the cabin anymore.”

“Because the bloody court will be having my attention all to himself,” Sandor grumbled. “And Joffrey will have yours.”

“He won’t,” Sansa sighed. “You know, Sandor, I was thinking about my time in King’s Landing - I know you will be busy there, and there are some things expected from me as well, but maybe we will have a chance to meet like this again?”

“Probably only at nights,” Sandor Clegane snorted, but Sansa just nodded to his words.

“That works fine with me,” she smiled. “Hopefully no one will take it as some sort of treason or something, you know.”

“They will take it for some other things for sure, especially your father.”

“But only if they will find out.”

“_ If_. I like your way of thinking. Completely unladylike one.”

Sansa pouted, but the smirk from her eyes didn’t disappear at all.

At least now there was a hope for her that their whole stay at the capital won’t be a total mess.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Stranger is not impressed


	9. In which Sandor is Welcomed by the Unwanted News, and Sansa is Welcomed by Her Betrothed

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1, there's now 100+ kudos, yay! Thank you so much guys, I really didn't expect this fanfic will be welcomed so warm, it was written as a pure crack after all :'D (but it turned into something more than just a crack lol)  
2, I made some changes in the list of characters - added Aegon and Jon who had finally creeped in the plot, plus added some more (and Joffrey, I forgot to add Joffrey, I swear to gods XD)
> 
> An obligatory warning about possible mistakes and typos due to the writing process on the phone is also here.

The captain was wrong.

They arrived at King’s Landing at night, hours earlier than it was promised, and it was a huge relief for Sandor. For now, he was spared from the torture of being welcomed by happy (or mourning?) crowd who would fill the whole wharf and all small streets around. Well, at least that’s how the process of welcoming the future King was pictured by his imagination, and there were some memories from his youth when he was travelling with his father across the lands which suddenly became their realm. Stannis Baratheon and Jon Arryn advised his father that it would be a good idea to meet not only with the liege lords and noble houses but also with smallfolk who were eager to see him on the Throne - and now it was his turn to pay his respects.

Young Sandor hated almost every second from that trip. Even having previous training and taking a part in Robert’s rebellion, he still wasn’t used for such long travel distances, and then there were horrified and nebby stares at him almost all the time. He was introduced as the heir to the throne, and most probably these people were curious, how it would feel to have such an ugly prick in charge of the whole Westeros. Plus, as it appeared, the sweet stories of beautiful lands were lying. At some point of that journey Sandor was considering to pretend his became ill and as his father to send him back to Clegane Keep, or at least to King’s Landing, but his plan was easily discovered by Jon Arryn, who was escorting the new King in the North and the Vale.

But Sandor Clegane wasn’t a young man who could at least sneak out of any formal reception and spend his time at the stables or somewhere in the yard. He was just a step away from getting himself the bloody throne for real, and there was no possibility to escape from such a fate at all. At least his sufferings were eased by the current hand of the King - the captain whispered him that a tired and scruffy raven had reached their ship couple of days ago with a short note from Stannis Baratheon, asking to do their best and speed up, so the arrival will happen at night.

Sandor was already on the deck, his several belongings with him. He was told that his warhorse will be able to exit the carriage area after their ship will stop, so Sandor had nothing really to do - but there was no way he would spend the rest of this trip inside his small cabin. It was quite lively on the deck now, as sailors were running back and forth, packing things and checking if there are no visible issues with the ship itself. After some time, some of the sleepy merchants also started to show up, and Sandor started to look around from time to time to see if he will be able to spot Lord Stark or his daughter, but most probably they were still sitting in their cabins. Again.

Sandor sighed. Sansa Stark was a smart and good girl, and she didn’t deserve being ridden to her place for the sake of propriety - especially when they were looking forward to spending some time in the Red Keep - and as Sandor was ware, not everyone in that place knew what in the hells the word ‘propriety’ meant. Such surroundings were not appropriate for a young lady who was guarded from all unladylike and improper things by her family, so Sandor decided he will make sure there will be certain rules in the damned keep from now on.

Thanks gods his father got rid of bloody Baelish years ago.

But everything else was still kinda unfair for that girl. And the worst thing in Sandor’s opinion was her family. Not that Lord Stark was a total nit, or that Lady Stark was an old sadistic hag - well, Sandor had seen enough examples of noble families who were perfect on the outside and a total mess behind the closed doors (the thought of a poor Robert Baratheon and snorted), but their views on their daughter’s wellbeing was quite ridiculous. And the worst thing was that they were _too _honourable for the parents of a girl of Sansa’s age. And this _honour _will only hurt Sansa in the future, with her being unprepared for some things this world prepared for every lady. Well, on the bright side, she wasn’t too naive like the other high-born girls.

On the other, opposite side, she was too young and too pure - and she was already betrothed to a little wanker called Joffrey Baratheon.

Sandor didn’t like to admit such things, but their unusual bond with Sansa Stark was making him to think too much about her future. He was more than sure that she didn’t deserve a fate of being married off to a wit man, and, honest to gods, he wanted to help her - but there was her bloody family. And even with the royal decree which would prohibit a certain young lady called Sansa Stark to marry a certain little scum called Joffrey Baratheon, Eddard Bloody Stark would find his way to fulfil his promise to his old friend and marry his daughter off.

Because of that ridiculous honour Sandor never understood.

He was a man with his own rules and some sort of honour, after all, he _had _to have it as a crown prince - but he definitely would never plummet to the level of Ned Stark.

What a misery.

But the one thing Sandor Clegane, the future Lord of Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm, was sure of was that he will look after Sansa Stark while she will be close to his court and not taken away to her betrothed's lands.

The night sky started to slowly change its colour, becoming a bit reddish, and on the distance, the first towers of the Red Keep had appeared. They still had to arrive before the hours when first fishermen or washerwomen would appear near the wharf, so Sandor was relaxed and ready to finally step on a ground which wasn't moving or making splashing sounds. He stretched his neck and hands, and decided to walk a little bit to put some pressure on his legs too. The spirits on the ship crew were quite high, probably they were looking forward to spending a couple of days in the capital and take everything possible from their stay far away from home.

Out of the corner of his eyes, Sandor saw some movement from the main part of the deck, and almost straight away he was attacked by the most peaceful huge furball he ever met.

"Lady, stop it!"

"Oh come on, Lord Stark," he snorted, scratching a happy direwolf begins her ears. Lady got used to Sandor's attention, but during the last couple of nights his attention was directed mostly to Sansa - and her pet was not happy about this turn of events.

So she tapped happily, and even locked Sandor's hands before Lord Stark mumbled his deepest apologies and tried to drag Lady to the side. 

"Father, please, let her go," Sansa asked in a sweet voice, appearing if out of nowhere. "Lady is doing nothing wrong, and Lord Clegane doesn't look unhappy because of her behaviour."

The girl sounded as if she was a random noble lady, and the past nights didn't happen at all - but Sandor knew it was for the best to keep their meetings in secret from Lord Stark. It still was a bit painful, but ye just nodded to Sansa's words and squatted in from of Lady, continuing his rubbing. 

"It's okay, Lord Stark," he shrugged. "This Lady is a good wolf."

"Direwolf," Ned Stark corrected him, as he was unsure how he should act - to let things go or to be ashamed of the whole situation.

"Still she looks like a soft beastly furball. Plus, don't forget that my father was born as a future kennel master, and not the King - so, I suppose, it's something inside me which makes all canines to run by my side," Sandor laughed and saw that Sansa made a funny face behind her father's back. So he laughed again, but for sure not because of Lady's chaotic licks.

"Very well," Ned Stark grumbled. "Anyway, we were told that we are going to be in King's Landing in an hour or so, maybe even less. Do you know why the captain had changed the initial plan, Lord Sandor?"

"No idea. Maybe all seven gods had finally decided that they were tired to watch any sort of pompous arrival, and that's why we came to the capital earlier than expected?" 

Ned Stark expression was an unreadable one. Well, Sandor could easily tell him about the request of Stannis, but he decided to keep it as a secret if the captain hadn't mentioned anything to Warden of the North. Plus, he kind of enjoyed looking at all those funny faces of an honourable Ned Stark.

Sandor made a courtesy nod in the direction to Sansa, who bowed her head and tried to look flattered by the fact that she was addressed by the crown prince himself. Ned Stark hummed something under his breath and Lady barked, and Sandor tried hard not to start laughing his ass off. Sansa Stark was the worst mummer he ever met.

When the ship had finally stopped and sailors made sure it was firmly moored at a berth, Sandor was eager to get away from it as soon as it was possible - but even at the nighttime, he decided not to drag too much attention to himself and waited until all merchants got off first. Then he offered a way to Lord Stark and Sansa (whose direwolf was already running back and forth somewhere between wharf workers), and made his way off only after them. He followed Stark’s example and thanked the captain, who was beaming with some sort of pride, and as soon as Sandor made a first step on the _real _ground his head started to ache and go round a bit.

Sandor growled and took it in his hands.

“I hope it is due to the fact you spent almost two weeks aboard, and not due to the number of gods known which wine you decided to drink on your way here.”

“The last time I got wasted as a nit was when I was thirteen,” Sandor grumbled, his eyes closed. “And you should know better than anyone else that I had never stepped beyond the limit after that, Lord Stannis.”

Stannis Baratheon sighed.

“I know about it very well. Don’t take it as an offence, but I was afraid that the news of your father’s death could have a sad impact on you.”

“They did, and I even had a proper drink the night when the news was delivered,” Sandor finally opened his eyes and took a look at the Hand of his father. “But otherwise I am fine.”

“Good,” Stannis nodded turned around. “I suppose, it’s time for us to proceed to the Keep? Your things will be delivered there, later on, so don’t worry.”

“Not sure if anyone will be able to deliver my horse,” Sandor snorted. “I’ll quickly get him and then we can go and have a rest.”

“Not a rest, unfortunately,” Stannis sighed again. “An important talk first - and only _ then _we will retreat to our rooms.”

Sandor shrugged - whatever this conversation was about it’d better to finish quickly. He never considered himself a man who needed a long and proper sleep, but after spending the last fortnight in a tiny bed which wasn’t meant for a person of his size he longed for a normal bed and a long sleep.

He fetched Stranger from the carriage area and followed Stannis. His warhorse was snorting angrily all way to the Keep, but Sandor whispered him a promise to put Stranger to the best place in Royal stables. These words made him calm down a little bit, but otherwise, Stranger was still unhappy with the whole journey and missing possibility to get his legs moving.

It was really quiet at this time in the Red Keep. They were met by several members of the guard, who were spending their time babbling about completely unimportant things but snapped to attention as soon as they noticed Hand of the King. When their looks fell on Sandor, their postures became even leaner.

Stranger kinda liked his new place in stables. He snorted at Sandor for the last time and turned around, as if hinting that he was not in the mood for spending more time with his master. Sandor shrugged, patted Stranger’s back and walked away. He had to hurry up and meet Stannis at his solar, otherwise, his sleep was at risk of never happening tonight.

Stannis was already there, as well as Lord Stark (who looked as if he didn’t have a clue of what was happening), Barristan Selmy and Varys.

“Please make yourself comfortable,” Stannis showed him a free chair to sit. “We will meet again tomorrow in the morning with the rest of the Small Council, but for now we can discuss the most urgent matters in this small circle.”

“Including Lord Stark?” Varys asked, eyeing the Northern Lord a bit suspiciously.

“We will need his help soon,” explained Stannis and turned to Stark. “Plus, I think we could use your loyal friendship with my brother for our cause, Lord Stark.”

Sandor didn’t know if Stannis was talking seriously, or there was a mocking tone in his words, but decided to suppress his laugh anyway.

“And what is our cause?” Ned Stark narrowed his eyebrows.

“Tomorrow, the Royal funerals will be held. Everything is already prepared, and there is no reason to wait any longer before we can bury Lord Kastor. After all, his son is finally here and that’s all that would matter for him.”

Sandor made an almost unrecognisable growl.

“Which leaves us with the subject of Lord Sandor’s coronation,” Stannis continued. “Me and Lord Varys were working hard to make everything on time, but now I can finally make an official announcement that it will take place the day after the funerals.”

“_ What _?” Sandor spatted.

“Won’t it be too reckless to make a feast and celebrations straight after we will bury our late King?” Ned Stark was sounding suspicious. “What’s with that hurry?”

Stannis sighed again.

“Lord Varys?”

“We have received a message that another pretender to the Iron Throne is on his way to the capital,” the Master of Whisperers announced. “And it is in our best interest to make sure we will crown Lord Sandor before any actions from the intruders could happen.”

“And what is the name of that imposter?” Lord Stark asked.

“Someone else is interested in taking the Throne?” there was a spark of interest in Sandor’s voice.

Varys nodded.

“It wasn’t a well-known fact, I’d say - nobody knew about it at all, but the son of Rhaegar Targaryen and his direct heir was taken away before the fall of King’s Landing. Aegon Targaryen wasn’t killed, and now he is eager to get the Throne to himself.”

“Then why can’t we just clean it, put a nice decoration on this bloody chair, and present it to that Targaryen kid?” Sandor asked curiously.

There was an arduous silence as an answer.

“Lord Sandor,” Stannis Baratheon was the one who broke it with a heavy sigh. “I know quite well that you have never been really happy about the fact that due to some rebellions and decision of the smallfolk, not even the noble lords, you became the next in line for the Iron Throne. And I could easily guess that now, after hearing this news you would gladly give them, how you usually say, _ bloody _Throne to someone else - but we can’t let this happen. I am sorry.”

“Are you afraid of another rebellion more than of the prospect of the war?”

“We aren’t,” Barristan Selmy answered instead. “You know, Lord Clegane, I have served not only your father, but the Mad King as well - and even got a chance to be the Commander of the Kingsguard during the short reign of Robert Baratheon, and I am sure that with the current state of our Kingsguard and army we could easily defeat any rebellion. It will be more difficult to deal with the Golden Company, taking into accounts all the stories of their power, but still, we could manage.”

Sandor rolled up his eyes.

“Then why can’t we let this happen?” he asked.

“Because,” Stannis Baratheon pointed his finger into Sandor’s direction. “There are so many reasons why we need to follow the wish of your late father and the current way of things, which will mean you becoming the King the day after tomorrow. And the current state of our army is one of the reasons.”

“I don’t get it?”

Out of the corner of his eye, Sandor noted that Ned Stark was also confused by Stannis’ statement, and felt a little relief. At least he wasn’t the only clueless person in this room.

"Our army is quite strong. Our people are fed. And they are happy, which is the most important thing - we haven't had any big rebellion since the smallfolk one. We don't have any monstrous debts to the Iron Bank, and there's always a room for Westerosi merchants to expand their trading ways. And, what is important, we are not depending on anyone. Of course, there are some small issues between the liege Lords, or quarrels, and sometimes you can even meet the outlaws somewhere in the woods - but mostly all Seven Kingdoms are currently in their prime."

"So?"

"So," Stannis bowed his head. "All these things were possible only because our late King, your father, and his council were able to find a common language not only with the nobility and rich merchants, but with the smallfolk and some of our neighbours across the sea. King Kastor's reign was strong and stable and it did a lot of good things not only to him or his closest circle, how it sometimes can happen. And if we will now turn the tables and put a Targaryen boy back to the Iron Throne, people will consider it as a betrayal - and they won't be quiet about it. You should know it, Sandor, you grew up near kennels after all, but when the dog gets its bone - it will fight anyone who will try to get it away. And a dog, who knew only beatings, hunger, and anger before will fight for the said bone even fiercer."

Sandor shook his head.

"Are you comparing smallfolk to the dogs, Lord Stannis?"

"I'm just trying to talk to you in the language you will understand better than simple prayers," an unusual spark of mischief appeared in Stannis Baratheon's eyes. "But I think you got my point. People want to see you on the Iron Throne, and please, don't start mumbling about your face."

"I'm not mumbling," mumbled Sandor.

"Great," Stannis nodded. "Well, I think that now all of us can retreat to their chambers. Lord Stark, your daughter was already assigned a room near the Royal quarters, and yours will be not too far away. And Sandor,” he turned to the crown prince again, his face even more serious than before.

“What?”

“Please, keep in mind all those things I told you today. And if you will decide to run away, or to sell the Throne to some kind of pretender - remember, I will do everything to make you a King. Even if it will mean to kidnap you, make you unconscious and put a crown on your breathless body. Understood?”

And then Sandor understood that there was no way back.

  
  


* * *

Sansa wasn’t able to fall asleep. The featherbed was so soft and comfortable, and Lady was lying by her side, already sleeping and making little squeaks in her sleep. The room she was given was nice and big, and her belongings were already moved in as well. Everything looked so perfect, and the handmaid even prepared a warm bath for her arrival, which Sansa deeply enjoyed - but still, she was not able to close her eyes and fall asleep.

Sansa sighed.

She needed to have a proper sleep. The handmaid said that the coming day will be so busy for the whole Keep, that even the guests might be involved in the big preparations. Sansa was not so sure why it was so important to make the Royal funerals too pompous or celebrate the death of the King with the feast, but she shrugged and nodded to the question if she will be able to help.

So now she needed some good sleep, but it didn’t come. Plus, at some point, she started to feel a nasty hunger. Most probably it was a sign that her moonblood would come in the next couple of days, Sansa always was feeling hungry at nights before and during these days, so there was no other choice to quietly sneak out of her featherbed and try to find the local kitchens.

She put on a simple dress from Winterfell she was wearing during her regular dress - the one from not the softest material or most perfect colour, but it was comfortable enough and could keep her warm. And as she didn’t want to fall asleep after going out during the night hours after a warm bath, this dress was the most perfect choice.

Lady raised her head when Sansa was about to leave, and made a quiet whine - Sansa smiled to her and whispered that she won’t be away for too long. Lady yawned and went back to her sleep. Sansa decided not to close the door fully, in case her direwolf will be eager to go outside, and made her way outside.

It was nothing like in Winterfell, where every facility was so close to each other, and where Sansa was feeling herself like a trout in a clean water. But she was for the first time in this place, and there was no one to help - Sansa had to close her eyes, make a short prayer to all the gods she knew, and just keep wandering around in a hope she will reach the kitchen keep soo and won’t get lost.

Well, of course, she did.

It was easy enough to get outside, though she had to be careful while going down the serpentine steps. But as soon as she was in the courtyard, she got lost for sure. There was nobody around, and this place lacked some extra lanterns. Sansa saw a light coming from a tall tower not so far away from her, but it wasn’t the kitchen for sure - so she shrugged and walked in another direction.

And that’s how she got lost.

There was a sept, and an armoury, and the kennels, and Sansa even saw the entrance of the Godswood, but she had almost run out of the ideas of how to find the kitchen area. And there was no one around to ask. Sansa sighed, she was already started to think that maybe she wasn’t so hungry after all, but straight away her stomach made a terrible growl, and Sansa made a wry face. And decided to continue her explorations.

She was somewhere near the tall tower again, when she heard some noise behind her. There wasn’t any light around, so Sansa assumed it wasn’t the member of the guard making his rounds, but she decided to take an opportunity to ask a person about the kitchens - but as soon as she opened her mouth and tried to turn around, she was suddenly caught at her hands, the grip so strong it made Sansa squeal. She tried to say at least something, but there was a hand on her mouth and she was immediately pressed to the strong body without any chance to escape.

“You wenches like it rough, I've learned it,” the man behind her cracked in a quiet rasp, and Sansa felt her body to tense and her legs to become numb.

No, it wasn’t happening. Nothing _bad _could happen to her. She was a lady, not a kitchen wench, and maybe her dress was resembling their clothes it was nothing compared to them.

The man made a couple of steps forward, making Sansa to move alongside, and soon she felt herself being pressed to the cold wall, while the hand of her torturer tried to put up her skirts. His hands were scored and small, nothing to do with the big and strong hands of the warriors she was used to seeing around and imagine as her sweethearts when she was a child. And the stone of the wall was so cold, that as soon as she hit her forehead Sansa felt herself coming back to her senses.

This man was trying to… to rape her. As if she was kitchen wench, willing or not.

_ Just kick them between the legs_, a Robb’s voice appeared in her mind. Her sweet brother was always worried about his sisters’ virtues and together with Jon and Theon had told Sansa what to do in case some lordling will try to get handsy with her.

Sansa took a deep breath, relaxed, making the man believe she had accepted her fate, and as soon as his grip slackened, she quickly turned around and did as her brothers taught her. Plus, she decided that a bite on his hand will do too.

The man squeaked and bent down, letting her go, and Sansa quickly jumped away from him. She knew she had to run, but her legs were becoming numb again, and her hands were trembling, and as soon as she became free her rational thoughts had faded away and Sansa started to shake with all her body, tears appearing in the corners of her eyes.

The man cursed and tried to stand up, but as soon as he tried to do so there was a huge shadow jumping out of nowhere, and his body was pinned to the ground like a rag doll. Lady, her soft and friendly Lady was here - and she wasn’t so friendly anymore, gnarling and baring her teeth in a warning.

“Lady, don’t,” Sansa asked in a weak voice.

Her direwolf let the man go and stood between him and her mistress, her teeth still bared and the deep growl coming from her throat. She made some slow steps backwards to get closer to Sansa, and as soon as she was near, Sansa clung to her soft fur as if trying to find some peace.

“You are not a kitchen wench,” the man - or rather a _ boy _squeaked, still lying on the ground and trying to calm down his pain from Sansa’s kick - or her bite.

Sansa didn’t answer. It was still dark around them, but as her eyes got more used to the gloom of the night, she was able to recognise some of his specific features.

Fair but not so long hair, displeased expression, and a pair of cold, sly eyes. Unfortunately, that was how she always pictured her betrothed to look like, and never in her life Sansa wanted her imagination to be wrong.


	10. In which Three Young Ladies are Facing some Difficulties

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My chapters are getting longer and longer, halp?

She had to open a window yesterday - it was quite hot in the guest room she was offered, so it was the noise from the courtyard which woke Dany up quite early.

She sat on her bed, stretched her hands and yawned. She didn’t really like to wake up early when there was no need for it, so Dany decided to consider this day an unsuccessful one straight after she woke up.

After all, today was the day she had to finally meet her potential husband.

Dany climbed down from her quite high bed and walked to the window, the sound of her bare feet too noisy for the small room she occupied. The sun was already high, and she parted the heavy curtains to get herself a nice view of the courtyard. She picked a wooden comb from the table, made herself comfortable on the cushions which had been already dragged all over the broad sill, and started to work on her long hair while glancing outside from time to time.

When she was a child, she was taken away with her brother and spent some time in a foreign land. She had to stay inside almost all the time, and peeking to the streets through the flimsy curtains became one of her favourite activities. She was keen to learn more about the place she was forced to live in, so Dany decided it was quite fair she had to have a chance to observe her surroundings, even if though the curtains. Viserys was calling it stupid and spent almost all his time in his room, angry at everything and everyone, but for Dany _his _pastime was a stupid one. After all, he was missing so many things, not knowing about the dresses local women were wearing, or about the funny horses with strange hunches on their backs, or about the colourful birds who enjoyed to sit on the branches of a lemon tree and sing their songs, which made Dany think of her mother.

She didn’t know her mother at all, but she always hoped her songs had to be as sweet as the ones these pretty birds sang.

Then, they were taken away again. One day two men came to their house and had a long conversation with Ser Willem. One of the guests was bald, round, and his voice sounded softer than any silk Daenery had ever touched. The other one was completely different, he was tall, his stature strong and broad, his hair and beard dark. And there were scars everywhere, they were covering almost all visible parts of his body but his face. Ser Willem asked her and Viserys to spend some time in their solar, and after a long and detailed conversation with both his guest, he came back and said with a small smile that they were going back to Westeros. Going home.

Well, they didn’t come to their _actual _home, but were sent to Dorne instead. Dany didn’t have any clue who all these people around her were, but soon enough she learned that it was her new family. Luckily, Ser Willem had stayed in Dorne with them and helped Dany and Viserys to get used to their new premises and life, and only with his help, Dany was able to find the common language with every member of the Martell family, as well as not forget her roots and real family. She was really lucky to have Ser Willem in her life.

She was told that the Martells were relatives of her dead goodsister and that the new King, who was now sitting on her father’s throne and ruling all Seven Kingdoms, had asked them to take Daenerys and Viserys to their home and let them grow up with their children. It worked quite well, both her and her brother were always fed, had the best clothes and toys, and Dany was able to find a good friend in princess Arianne, even despite their age difference.

And then her life started to go in a much better direction than it could. She didn’t need to hide anymore. She was surrounded by her relatives and maids. She was free to run around the huge palace and engage herself in so many games with her friends she started to call her brothers and sisters one day. Viserys wasn’t as happy as she was, he spent most of his free time in the library or practising his combat skills, and from time to time he was reminding Dany that one day they will have to take what was belonging to them in truth.

Dany didn’t like his way of thinking. She knew that she was a daughter of a man who was a King until his death, and she learned the history of her family from Ser Willem, but somewhere deep inside she never wanted to get involved into another war. Wars and rebellions were bad, Dany learned that since she was a dull child. Ser Willem and the Martells told her she will be a fine young lady who will be married to a noble Lord one day, and it was enough for Dany to feel happy. She always imagined that one day a tall and brave knight will arrive to the Sunspear (somehow he always looked like a mixture of a younger Ser Willem and a First Man whose image she saw in some old books), and, after the talks with Doran, he will call her his bride and take her away to her new home. Or maybe they will be able to stay in Dorne - Dany liked this place, it was warm and there was a sea where she could swim whenever she wanted.

Viserys was always laughing about her dream, and when the news of her potential betrothal to the Heir of the Iron Throne arrived, Dany felt herself… betrayed.

She had heard about Sandor Clegane a lot. Firstly, his brother was the one who killed her goodsister, as well as niece and nephew. When Dany was just a child, she hated him and his father so much, but one day Oberyn had told her that there was no need for this hatred - after all, Gregor Clegane was exiled without the possibility to return, and both Sandor and King Kastor had hated him even more than Dany hated them. She learned that the horrible wound the crown prince had on his face was the doing of Gregor. And that the scars which were covering King’s body were the doing of Gregor too. And that the man, who came to her bring her home years ago was the King himself - and he wanted only the best for both Targaryen siblings. And Dany decided to forgive the House of Clegane - but still, even the prospect of being connected to it through her marriage was making her shiver.

Then, the marriage to Sandor Clegane would mean that Dany will be the Queen. And that was what she didn’t want at all. She just wanted to be happy with her Lord husband and not having her head full of Royal issues - and Dany knew there will be loads of them. Plus, Sandor Clegane wasn’t a knight - one more reason to not consider him as a potential match.

But Oberyn told her that they need to go to the capital anyway - to attend the Royal funerals and maybe to see the coronation of the new King too, depending on when it will be held. And then, meeting Sandor Clegane face to face for the first time, she could have a chance to tell him her negative opinion about the potential marriage - and then she will be free from her betrothal. If she will want to be free, of course.

Dany sighed. She was told that they will have to attend the Royal funeral tomorrow. She kind of hoped that the coronation will be moved to the later day, and by the time of it she will already be back to Dorne - or at least on her way to it. Oberyn, from the other hand, was too eager to stay at least for the feast, and Dany pouted every time he was trying to make her change her mind about it.

There were some loud shouts from the courtyard, and Dany put her comb aside to take a proper look at what was happening there. Nothing special, just a regular combat training - but it looked like one of the young lords who decided to take part in these activities had hurt his left hand. In Dany’s opinion, if someone was too weak and coward, there was nothing for them to do in the training yard. And this lordling was weak and coward for sure - Dany didn’t recognise him, he was standing with his back to her after all, but she could tell that straight away even with her eyes closed. At least from the loud whining that followed after his hand was hit.

Another lordling, his sparring partner, threw away his wooden sword and started to apologise straight away. Dany didn’t know him too, but still wrinkled her nose - his actions after he hit the fair-headed one weren’t the one of the warriors. Apologies won’t help both of them to become stronger and wiser, and only will put their spirits down.

There was already a small crowd around two lordlings, of course, the others were more interested in watching a mummery without paying a copper. Dany sighed and already wanted to get back to her hair and make a nice long braid with some ribbons in it, when another person appeared in the yard, accompanied by a huge, beastly wolf. Dany had heard that these beasts were called direwolves and they lived far away from her beloved Dorne - and that the only known direwolves at the moment belonged to the children of Lord Eddard Stark. Dany had already spotted one of them yesterday sleeping near kennels, and Oberyn told her that it had to belong to the eldest Stark son who arrived recently together with the Barartheons of Storm’s End.

But this direwolf was smaller and its fur was much lighter - and judging by the way it acted around the man next to it, Dany decided that this one wasn’t a deadly beast at all.

Speaking of the man.

Dany had never met him in person before, and from where she sat it wasn’t possible to get a clear picture of his face, but just man’s stature and height made a very plain hint that it was Sandor Clegane himself. The man she might marry one day.

There was a stirring in the yard as someone noticed the crown prince approaching, and then the circle of spectators grew bigger literally in a second. Both young lordlings forgot their issues as well and greeted Clegane with a courtesy nods, the fair-headed was still holding his injured hand as a little child. Dany saw Clegane asking both of them something, taking a brief look at lordling’s hand - and then he threw his head back and started to laugh so loudly that even Dany shivered.

Her potential betrothed was too intimidating to her tastes - she had always dreamed of a well-built and tall knight, yes, but this man was just _huge_. And his scarred face was a bit too much for Dany’s liking. She always thought that wounds and scars could serve to a man the same way ribbons and jewellery served women, but it didn’t apply to the case of Sandor Clegane.

Dany sighed. Now she felt bad and angry at herself. Sandor Clegane wasn’t guilty that his brother was acting as a monster not only to his enemies, but also to his own family. And she didn’t need to judge him by his appearance - but she did. And it was an awful feeling.

Maybe Oberyn was right, and Sandor Clegane wasn’t as scary inside as he was looking, and that meant Dany had to meet him face to face, without any stupid maids or chaperones around. It still was quite scary, especially considering the rumours about Clegane and women she had heard before (Oberyn, from the other side, was always laughing and telling that they were an utter rubbish and Sandor Clegane wasn’t interested in women _at all _), but that was something she had to do anyway.

Meet him, get to know him better, politely decline his betrothal offer.

When she had learned about the betrothal for the first time, she wrinkled her face and said that she didn’t have _any _desire to become the Queen. Viserys was so angry at her decision, blaming her that she wanted to betray her parents and lose a precious chance to get the Throne back to the Targaryens. Dany became angry too, saying that if this stupid Throne were so important to him, he would better to go and ask for Clegane’s hand in marriage himself. She didn’t want to marry the King then, and she didn’t change her opinion now, even after spending some time in King’s Landing, a place she was destined to be born and live happily as the princess.

But she missed Dorne, the place which became her home. Dany knew that she would have to leave it one day, she was six and ten, and she will be married one day for sure - but for now, she wanted to go back and enjoy her life there until the last possible moment.

But she had to meet Sandor Clegane first, and Dany sensibly decided that it had to be done after Sandor Clegane will bid his farewell to the late King.

And then - she will be free for real.

  
  


***

  
  


Someone was banging on her door. Then she heard a loud bark - no, two of them, - and the door had finally opened.

“Sansa, wake up!”

Sansa groaned and tried to pull the soft pillow on her head.

The pillow was gone in a second, and Sansa sat on her bed, rubbing her eyes.

“Don’t tell me you aren’t happy to finally meet your brother again,” Robb mumbled, seating himself on the bed next to Sansa.

_ Robb_.

Sansa’s eyes opened wide straight away, and she almost threw herself into her brother’s embrace.

“You are here!” she laughed, and Robb patted her head with a short laugh as well.

“We came here five or six days ago - I mean, initially I had to stay in the Stormlands, but then Lord Robert decided to take me with him to the capital too. So I could meet my family and keep the company to his son, you know.”

“To Joffrey.”

Robb eagerly nodded.

“Can’t wait to see you betrothed, right?” he smiled, but this small faded away as soon as Robb realised that his sister didn’t look happy at all.

Sansa felt herself shivering again. The memories of the last night didn’t attack her straight away after she woke up, and even her dreams took their pity on her and she was able to have a nice, deep sleep. But as soon as Robb mentioned that he had arrived here together with the Baratheon heir, she remembered everything straight away.

The fear had caught her unguarded.

“Sansa?” Robb took her hands in his and looked directly in her eyes. “You are trembling, Sansa. Is anything wrong?”

Sansa wanted to cry. She looked at her brother, not being quite sure if it will be a wise decision to tell him what had happened to her last night. Somehow she felt ashamed, but at the same time, she wanted to let everyone know that Joffrey Baratheon was _the biggest wanker _in the all Seven Kingdoms.

But before making such an announcement, she had to be sure of everything.

“It’s fine,” she told her brother after a deep breath. “I’m just nervous about everything, you know? I had to spend almost two weeks in a small ship cabin, then I will have to take part in the funerals, and I’m just simply unsure of how I should act at the Royal Court.”

Sandor had mentioned so many times that she was the most terrible mummer in the whole world. If that was true, it meant that Robb was a truly unfastidious spectator.

“Don’t worry,” he smiled, soothingly caressing her hair. “I’ve heard it will be a busy day today, with all those preparations and everything, but I will make sure you will be spared from the all Royal fuss. Anyway, Lord Robert told us that everything was already prepared for the funerals days before your arrival, and with the coronation, they could deal themselves.”

“Coronation?” Sansa asked in a confusing tone.

Lady, who was sitting next to Robb, made a loud and somehow proud bark. Her brother, whom Sansa haven’t seen for months, nuzzled his nose into Lady’s soft fur, as if asking her to be quieter.

“Lord Clegane’s coronation, of course,” Robb shrugged. “Lord Stannis informed us in the morning that it is appointed on the day after tomorrow. Quite blasphemous decision, if you ask me, but probably they had their reasons for it.”

“I see,” Sansa nodded.

She remembered Sandor - and how he hoped to stay away from the Iron Throne as long as it was possible. Sansa had hoped that during the weeks - or maybe even months, - of his freedom they will be able to see each other during the nights as they agreed on the ship. But now he was about to become the King, which meant there always will be a proper guards next to his bedroom, and he will be too busy to spend his time on some dull conversations with her, and then his marriage to Daenerys Targaryen will happen even despite Sandor’s protests, and…

“You are trembling again,” Robb sighed, drawing her back from her thoughts. “Don’t worry, Sansa, luckily we aren’t the Southern royalty - no one would expect from us to attend all events, and you don’t even need to be _ too _courteous - even if nobody asked, we still can show the locals our Northern ways!”

He laughed, and there was a blaming shadow in both direwolves’ stares.

“Robb, tell me,” Sansa took a deep breath again, trying to calm herself down. “You’ve been living as a ward in Storm’s End for a while now - can you tell me, what do you think of Joffrey?”

“I _ knew _you can’t wait to see him,” Robb grinned. “You see, as a man who has a lady of his own I can understand your impatience to learn about him more even before your first meeting. So, you see - Joffrey is quite an interesting young man. I can’t say we became friends, there wasn’t enough time for it, but I kinda enjoy spending time with him.”

“Enjoy?” Sansa repeated, confused even more than before.

Rob nodded.

“He reads a lot, and he is interested in different things such as politics or history. And because of all his books, you can always have a long and good conversation with him. He isn’t a skilled warrior, that’s true - I mean, he decided to join me today in the courtyard for a training combat and after some blows I have already smashed his sword away. Well,” Robb’s face suddenly reddened. “I was too eager to have a proper training this morning that I’ve injured him a bit… But don’t worry, we’ve already visited the maester and he assured us it’s nothing serious, so as soon the bandages will be taken from his left hand you will have your betrothed in full, I promise you.”

“Left hand?”

“Yeah,” Robb nodded again. “I’m telling you, even with his other talents Joffrey is clumsy when it comes to the fighting - I’m not even sure how he ended up defending from my blows with his left hand, but again, don’t worry - he will be well very soon.”

“I’m not worrying,” Sansa said.

That was bad.

If she didn’t want to blame Joffrey straight away, she first had to make sure it wasn’t him - the _boy _from the last night had run away almost as soon as Lady finally switched her attention to her mistress, so Sansa wasn’t able to have a proper look at him. It was a shame she didn’t ask her direwolf to hold him longer, but she wasn’t _that _cold-minded to act in a such situation as if nothing happened.

But there were things which could help Sansa to recognise the man. The bite she made on his left hand, and also Lady’s reaction towards Joffrey - or any other fair-headed person she will meet in the Keep. She also wanted to get a more detailed opinion on him from someone who wasn’t his family member of her father, but Robb had just told her that Joffrey wasn’t a person from the rumours Sansa had heard before. And because of Robb’s eagerness she lost her chance to check Joffrey’s hand - it would be too suspicious to ask him to take all dressings and bandages down without any proper reason.

Well, she still had Lady.

Sansa bent over and patted her direwolf. Grey Wind made a dissatisfied bark, so Sansa giggled and scratched behind his ear too.

“Lady is a big wolf now,” Robb grinned. “You know, she somehow managed to run out of your room while you still were asleep - and by the time she was discovered by Lord Clegane, couple of scared to death castle maids and kitchen wenches were claiming they met a Stranger himself. A very striking Stranger, to be honest - looking like a furball and trying to steal some food from them.”

Sansa giggled.

“And what had intrigued me was her interaction with Lord Clegane,” Robb reached out his hand and scratched Lady’s chin. “She acts around him as a little kitten - did you know about that? Yapping, rolling on the ground and asking to pet her - looks like they found a common language during your travels. Which isn’t strange, especially taking into account that he spent first years of his life too close to the kennels…”

“Robb,” Sansa cut him off with a disapproving stare.

“You looked like our mother now,” now it was Robb’s turn to shiver.

“Because you are talking some stupid nonsense.”

“But Lord Clegane _ had _grown up near the kennels, everyone knows about it.”

“And it still doesn’t mean you need to use it for a joke.”

There was a strange spark in Robbs eyes, but he just sighed.

“Strangely, you are _that _protective over a man you don’t even know,” he said with a very short snort.

Sansa just shrugged.

If Robb was so sure she didn’t know anything about their future King, she had to tell Sandor that she was a very decent mummer after all.

Sansa still dared to hope they will have at least one more meeting before his coronation.

  
  


***

  
  


It wasn’t fair at all.

Arya spurred her mare and latched onto her reins. Jon and his horse were left somewhere behind, but Arya didn’t care. She was sad, she was angry, she wanted to ride as far away as it was even possible. Maybe even to the Wall, Arya was sure no one from her family would look after her there. She was told so many times that the Wall was dangerous for women, let alone little girls, but she was somehow sure that people there will understand her difficult situation, give her a warm food and a soft bed, and then she will stay and serve the realm together with the Black Brotherhood. After all, her uncle Benjen was visiting Winterfell from time to time, which meant she could be in touch with her family somehow.

That was a perfect plan, and Arya dug her heels even harder into mare’s sides. The poor animal didn’t deserve such attitude from her, and Arya whispered some regrets into mare’s ear. Soon, she promised, very soon they will be safe and sound at the Wall, and then both of them will have a proper rest, food, and place to sleep.

Arya didn’t have any idea how long it will take them to get there - but she was sure that with her dedication, it will take them less than a day.

It was cold today, the ground was covered by a thin layer of snow, and Arya even regretted not wearing warmer boots - but there was no way she could return to Winterfell now. They will make her wear dresses again and will lock her in her solar with the stupid embroidery, and Jon will tell her again to be calm and wise and forget about any possibility of her becoming a ward of any castle. It wasn’t a place for a fine young lady, he said after Arya shared her deepest wish during their riding walk, and Arya felt betrayed straight away. She told Jon he was a stupid horseshit (she was so proud of herself when she learned that saying from stable boys), quickly wiped tears from her eyes, and flew away on her mare. Jon was shouting something, probably asking Arya to stay, but she didn’t care anymore.

Her mother was sure she will be a lady one day. Her father was giving her more freedom, but he had warned Arya that her training and free wanderings will stop on a day she will get her stupid moonblood, and now her most favourite brother said there was no way for her to live as she wanted.

_ Bugger _them!

It was getting colder and colder, and a pretty mare was slowing her pace. She was a really good mare, but probably not used for riding large distance so quickly. Arya pouted, she didn’t want to spend the night somewhere in the forest, and the Wall was nowhere to be seen.

Well, but she didn’t have any other choice.

So Arya relaxed, took the reins cosily, and decided to enjoy her ride. It was still quite bright, the first signs of the upcoming twilight had only started to appear - which nice as Arya liked this particular time of the day. And having a possibility to see it in the forest with nobody around was truly a blessing. Arya grinned - well, at least she will have a proper story to tell when she will arrive to the Wall and will be questioned about her travel while offered a large mug of some fresh tea.

But her surroundings were truly breathtaking - huge, mighty trees, fluffy firs, large bushes covered with snow and coloured in red with the first prints of the twilight, and…

And Arya had felt that her breath was taken away.

She opened her mouth - but stayed quiet. Or maybe there was a scream she wasn’t able to hear - but judging from her mare’s behaviour and the fleet of crows, who took their wings as soon as Arya and her horse appeared nearby, she screamed something.

“Arya, here you are!” there was a sound of a hoofbeat and Jon’s voice sounded unhappy. “Why in the Seven Hells you decided to run away first, and then started to scream my name as if you are dying here? What’s wrong?”

There was no reply from Arya. She was sitting straight, the reins in her white fists and her eyes wide opened, and just kept looking in front of her, as if there was a magical power which made her mute and petrified.

There was nothing magical in a pile of the dead bodies laid-open in a strange pattern, but it made her speechless and scared anyways.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> /whitewalkers have joined the chat


	11. In which Sansa is Confused, and Sandor Feels Some Feelings

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Clegane's might be from the Westerlands, but I had already mentioned that they are giving me strong Eastern European vibes - so I decided to use some cultural and religious traits from EE and apply them to the Westerlands (or, THAT particular part of the Westerlands Cleganes are from).
> 
> They are getting longer and longer, I'm scared...

The High Septon was blabbering something for hours now. At least for Sandor, it felt like it has been already a couple of hours - days, weeks, months? The whole service was too long, and at some point, he was starting to feel his mind wandering somewhere else.

He had never attended any funerals before. When his mother died, he was too young and was left in the keep with his babe sister and her wetnurse. When his granddad passed away, Sandor was asked to go to the sept with the rest of his family, he was told that old Lord would be disappointed if his favourite grandchild decided to skip the service - but Sandor ran away. He didn’t want to be in a tiny sept next to his granddad’s lifeless body, with his mumbling father and indifferent Gregor, listening to the chants of their septon - so he ran away and hid in the kennels until the next morning. These kennels were built with the help of his granddad, and he loved to spend his time here even more than in his solar, and Sandor was hiding there, clutching into old hound his granddad loved the most and crying. There was a huge scolding awaiting him when he was found by a servant, but Sandor didn’t care.

And when his sister was murdered, there was no proper ceremony at all. He was angry at his father and refused to talk to him for the whole week. Years later, his father told him that little Elenor’s body was disfigured so much it would be a bad joke to make funerals and flaunt her even for their servants. Then, he added that he didn’t want Sandor to see her funerals, so he could remember her as his little sister, not a bloody corpse.

And now his father had died - and Sandor could not escape his funerals. He was his bloody heir, after all. One step from becoming the King himself - or, to be more precise, one day. So he had no other choice but to stay near the stone pedestal and to not show his desire to be somewhere away from all this rubbish. Especially now.

He already mourned his father, and even drank to his memory (to be more precise - drunk himself out of his mind), and even embraced the fact that from now one he will have to act as the last member of Clegane family. But the formalities were asking him to stand next to his father's body in front of numerous people, noblemen and smallfolk, who decided to pay their farewells too - some of them because of the simple formalities, the others because of their own will. It was still a bit strange for Sandor, but some people had mourned his father just because he was a good King. From the other side, it somehow made Sandor proud.

He learned from Stannis that initially they wanted to follow the proper Western funeral ceremony as his father would want, but the Hand knew him too well. Of course, Sandor wouldn't be too happy to spend a sleepless night in an empty room with his dead father, even though the maesters did a great job in keeping his body in a proper condition until the day of funerals, so the future King was spared from this particular tradition. Some of the traditional things still were left in place (not as if his father was a pious man, but the Royal funerals had to follow some certain regulations), but Sandor turned a blind eye to them.

His father had asked Stannis to bury him back at Clegane keep - next to his wife, parents, and daughter. And Stannis, being the perfectionist as always, had organised everything even before Sandor’s arrival. Initially, as he told, both him and Sandor had to go to the keep too, as it was required by the protocol, but then the sudden change of plans in the person of Aegon Targaryen happened. Tomorrow, his father’s corpse will be sent back to Westerlands, and Sandor will stay in the capital, getting a stupid heavy crown and too high chair in the Throne room. And then his life will become a nightmare.

The dull Septon was still talking and talking, and Sandor started to fill himself dizzy. He was strong enough for fighting, he could spend hours on the horseback, travelling without any rest for more than a full day, he could do almost everything - but standing still next to his dead father and being observed by loads of people he never met in his life was too much. And what was the worst, the whole vigil, and the atmosphere in the Sept made him to think about how miserable was - and maybe still is his life. And the worst thing of them all was the fact that suddenly he had felt fear and loneliness. Sandor never considered that he could feel unhappy because of the loss of his family - and here he was.

He needed a drink. Or maybe another person next to him, who could listen to all his stupid thoughts and fears. But the only two people to whom he could ever consider going to with this sort of thing were right here, at the vigil - and yet it felt as if they were miles away from him, and Sandor was left completely on his own. Just him, his dead father, and the faceless crowd in front of him.

When the High Septon was finally done with his blabbering, it took Sandor a lot of effort not to run away and hide in his room, as if he was a little stupid pup once again. Well, at least Stannis was wise enough not to call a huge feast as it was requested by the bloody tradition, so after a couple of more hours of standing next to some high Lords and quietly nodding to their formal condolences, Sandor was almost free again. He still had to attend a small meeting in the Hand’s tower regarding his coronation tomorrow - but for now, he decided that he had enough time in between to quickly run to the kitchens and get himself some wine. Just a little bit.

There was no one except the kitchen maid who was present here almost all the times - she just glanced over Sandor, sighed, and without any other word dug out of the small storage space a small flask of Sandor’s favourite wine. This wench was working here for years, probably starting even during the short and not successful reign of Robert Baratheon - Sandor still remembered how she caught him when he tried to sneak in the supposedly empty place for some drinks when he was just five and ten. That time he got a small scolding from her, and also a wordless agreement had appeared between them - from on, Sandor didn’t need to explain to her what type of wine he wanted, and what amount he needed to get during the times he could so suddenly appear on the kitchen’s threshold.

Another great thing about this wench was that she never even attempted to throw herself at the crown prince’s head, as many of them tried to do. That was a great thing.

“That bad?” the wench asked after Sandor opened his flask and finished it just in a couple of large gulps.

They knew each other for years, but Sandor never learned her name.

He nodded and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

“Everyone here was devastated when we learned that your father had died.”

Sandor shrugged.

“And we hope you will be a good King as well.”

Sandor snorted.

“There are also some rumours you are betrothed now.”

“What rumours?” Sandor finally broke his silent conversation attempt.

“That Lord Stark had found you a future bride,” the wench looked at him very seriously - and then giggled. “You might hate rumours, but at least some girls here had finally understood they will never have their chances with you, so you can come here without any fear to be attacked.”

“Whatever,” he grumbled in reply.

“She’s a very nice lass,” the wench smiled. “You definitely will be happy with her.”

“Think so?”

“I do,” the wench nodded. “She was here yesterday, closer to the night there was not enough food prepared for her wolf, so she had to ask us for some more - and trust us, women, but we were able to tell straight away she will make a good wife and the wise Queen too.”

Sandor shook his head.

“Whom are you talking about?”

“Your betrothed,” the wench rolled her eyes up, as if thinking that Sandor had too much wine for today. “The pretty redhead whom Lord Stark brought with him to be wed to you…”

“She’s _not _my betrothed,” Sandor cut her off, somehow feeling irritated. “And please make sure that furry beast will have enough meat from now. Deal?”

The wench nodded, her face somehow losing its shining straight away after Sandor’s words that the girl who visited them won’t become their Queen one day.

“I definitely will,” she answered.

“And no more even a tiny gossip about my betrothal, right?”

There was one more nod, and Sandor sighed.

"And please, if I will come next time and ask for more wine than needed, feel free to give me another scolding as it was many years ago. Don't think people will be happy to see a drunken fool as their King."

Woman's lips shake a little bit, as if she was fighting a smile, but she just nodded once again.

"As you wish, Your Grace."

"Not a _ grace_. At least for now."

Sandor left the kitchens, wiped his mouth again, as if would help to hide the smell of wine he drunk, and headed to the Hand's tower. 

It will be a difficult conversation. 

  
  


* * *

  
  


To tell the truth, Sansa was really… confused?

Yesterday she spent almost the whole day in her chambers, talking to Robb and father, playing with Lady and Grey Wind, and only late at night she decided to sneak outside to get some extra food for her direwolf - and for herself too. Everyone in the kitchens was so nice to her, as if she was the Queen herself, and Sansa wondered if people in the Red Keep always were so friendly towards their guests.

And today she had to attend the Royal funerals.

Sansa was told that as an honourable guest she will have to stay in the Great Sept for the whole service, so she made sure she is ready for it. Proper sleep, dark-coloured dress, and her hair put most simply as it was possible with its length. She was standing next to her father, trying to not think too much about her miseries, after all, she was here to pay respect to the late King - and offer condolences to his son.

It was really difficult to not look too curious, but Sansa still was able to stare at Sandor openly, if only for a little bit. He looked tired, and there was something deep in his eyes, the feeling Sansa was not ready to describe or name, but somewhere inside she wanted to spit upon all courtesies and formalities and just give Sandor a simple hug. He looked as if he needed to be alone somewhere in his room, or at least with another person with whom he could share all his fears or sorrows. Sansa knew enough she will never be _that _person for Sandor, but it was really difficult to see him like this.

On his own, in front of the people he didn't even know.

She wanted to approach him after the end of the funeral service, but then she was dragged aside by her father and brother, so they could easily get out of the crowded Sept, and after they rejoined Baratheons and the Small council, she wasn’t able to find Sandor anywhere. Lord Stannis mentioned to her father that they will have a brief meeting with Sandor in about an hour, but he still didn’t tell anything about his whereabouts. And Sansa was unsure if it will be appropriate enough to ask him and not sound very suspicious. She knew that after tomorrow the time she spent with the crown prince will vanish in the oblivion, so she’d better learn not to pay too much attention to Sandor, his well-being, and anything that was related to him.

Or, to be more precise, to _them _\- which, as Sansa reminded herself straight away, had never existed at all. So there was no reason to stuff her head with these ridiculous thoughts.

Lord Stannis, however, as if noticed her hesitation. At some point, Sansa had caught his curious deep stare, and he even made a move forward as if to speak to her - but Sansa never learned if he wanted to talk to her about her behaviour or something else, as suddenly there was her betrothed standing in front of her.

“Lady Sansa,” said Joffrey Baratheon in a deep and polite voice and bowed his head.

Well, the rumours didn’t lie - he looked handsome. His hair was cut short, his green eyes looked at her with the curiosity and some dignity, and his stature was the one of a high-born young lord, who knew how to act in the public and how to make a good impression on his companion.

And there was nothing in his traits she could match to the _boy _from two nights before.

Out of the corner of her eye, Sansa saw that her father was trying to send her some signs, putting his hand up, and she hastily offered her hand for a polite kiss.

“Well, I see you are already trying to find the common ground?” Robert Baratheon approached his son and gave a light smack on his shoulder. “Anyway, all of us, old things we are, will be leaving to Stannis’ chambers soon - and you should _definitely _consider it as an opportunity to spend some time alone. Right, Ned?”

Her father nodded with a smile, and Sansa felt a tense feeling somewhere inside. Because of the recent events she was not sure if she wanted to spend some time in a company of another man, who also was her suspect for those monstrous actions, but then she decided that she could take Robb with them as some sort of a chaperone - and Robb agreed with a laugh.

“I won’t bother you much,” he promised. “And Grey Wind needs some walk anyway, so we can follow you from afar.”

Robert Baratheon wanted to protest, but it was Lord Stannis who suddenly jumped into their conversation and agreed that it won’t be too proper if a young maid will wander around in the company of a person she saw for the first time in her life, betrothed or not. Lord Robert chewed on his lip, as if trying to decide should he argue with his younger brother or no, but then just let it go.

And then Sansa was left alone with Joffrey - and with Robb and his direwolf somewhere around.

Joffrey politely offered his hand and suggested they could have a short walk around the castle gardens, and maybe even visit the Godswood. Sansa nodded to his words, hoping that Robb won’t be remaining behind for too long, and gave her hand to her betrothed so they could begin their walk.

And now she was really confused.

She was in her bed, staring into the dark ceiling. Lady was curled by her side, snoring quietly, and from time to time Sansa ran her hand through her direwolf’s fur. There were so many thoughts in her head now, but the main one was that she didn’t know at all what to think of Joffrey Baratheon.

During their walk, he was telling her stories about his travels, asked her opinion on some things she found interesting, listened to her words very carefully, and even laughed at Sansa’s dull jokes. He was polite, he was gallant, and he was… very strange. Joffrey Baratheon in front of her didn’t look like a person from the rumours she had heard for years, and if there was someone else on Sansa’s place, he or she could decide that these rumours were nothing but a fraud to mire image of the Baratheon’s family heir.

But Sansa had already learned that all rumours in this world weren’t born from nothing. Plus, she still was not completely sure if it wasn’t Joffrey who tried to attack her - after all, she still had to check Lady’s behaviour around him. But otherwise, she was feeling very dull and confused. And what was the worst thing to admit, she had kinda enjoyed the time she spent with her betrothed.

But not on the same level as her time with Sandor.

Sansa shook her head. Then, to nail down her actions, she even lightly slapped her cheeks.

There was no her time with Sandor anymore. End of story.

Sansa turned on her side, burying her face in Lady’s fur. She needed some sleep straight away, after all, she wanted to look fresh and beautiful during the coronation ceremony, but the sleep didn’t come at all. She was tossing and turning, which made Lady to raise her head once and look at her mistress with some sort of worry, and even went to open the window in hope that cold wind could give her some relief - but it didn’t work.

She could hear some voices from the outside, probably some servants finishing their preparations for the tomorrow’s feast, and when there was a quiet, almost soundless scratching sound at her door, she didn’t pay any attention to it at first. It was Lady who made her aware that there was someone outside their chamber. She raised her head again, stared into the darkness of the room - and then jumped out of the bed and ran to the door with a tiny whine. Sansa narrowed her eyebrows, but decided to climb out of her bed and follow her direwolf.

When the scratching sound was back, Sansa slowly approached the door and, taking a deep breath, opened it.

Lady made a tiny dark and almost jumped on the tall figure of Sandor Clegane, as if trying to knock him down from the happiness.

“May I?” Sandor Clegane whispered, and Sansa felt her legs go numb. She nodded, being afraid that her voice will do something stupid, and made a step back, letting Sandor in. He entered her chamber and closed the door behind him, trying to calm Lady down with his other hand.

“What are you doing here?” Sansa whispered when she knew nobody will be able to hear them.

“I thought we agreed on the ship?”

“Yes, but…” Sansa gulped down. “But I thought it was only for the time before you will become the King, and…”

“But I am here - and still not the King,” Sandor snorted.

“But you will become the one tomorrow.”

“But it is still today, right?”

Sansa nodded.

“Right,” she whispered, making small steps backwards until she reached her bed and sat on its edge. Then, she pointed to the small chair near it, and Sandor took her offer without any other word.

Lady yapped and placed herself between them, looking at Sandor as if he was her most favourite person in the world, not her mistress.

“So,” Sandor sighed. “How was your day?”

In the darkness of her room, it looked like his hands were shaking just a little bit, but Sansa decided it was her dull imagination and nothing more.

“I had to spend some time with Joffrey,” she answered, hoping she won’t break down straight away and tell Sandor all her fears. “And it was quite… bearable.”

“So the little weakling learned how to be a good mummer?” Sandor chuckled. “I’ll never believe he had suddenly turned all good.”

“He was polite, he was nice to me, and he didn’t get handsy as some lordlings were trying to act around me back home,” Sansa shrugged. “So that’s why I called it bearable - but not perfect. Or even good.”

“That’s good he didn’t try to run his weak hands all over you,” Sandor grumbled as if her, Sansa’s modesty or maybe even happiness were his concern.

“Robb was following us from some distance, so there was no chance he could do anything to me.”

“That was a smart move from your father.”

“I offered it,” Sansa explained. “And Lord Stannis agreed it will be more proper that way.”

Sandor snorted, startling Lady a little bit.

“I was always sure Stannis knows what kind of a little shit his nephew is,” he said with a smirk. “If Joffrey is his nephew at all.”

“What do you mean?” Sansa narrowed her eyebrows.

“Stupid rumours,” Sandor waved his hand. “Nothing to get worried about for now - well, at least until your betrothal was officially announced, you know.”

“And what about you?”

“Pardon?”

Sansa sighed and closed her eyes.

“About you and Daenerys Targaryen, you know?” she blabbered, her eyes still closed.

Somehow this topic was making her feel kinda uneasy.

“Didn’t meet her,” now it was Sandor’s turn to shrug. “And I hope I won’t see her until the first day after coronation - you know, I don’t want people to pay too much attention to her during all this rubbish procedure.”

“Are you afraid people will change their mind and pick the Targaryen over you?”

“I’m afraid people will decide she is going to be their future Queen - because I am not sure that it could ever happen.”

“And if you will change your mind after a proper talk to her?”

“We had already discussed it before,” Sandor grumbled. “There’s no way I will willingly marry her, trust me. Even if it will mean that she will decide to join her forces with her bloody nephew and make an attempt to take the iron chair from me.”

“Nephew?” there was another shade of confusion in Sansa’s voice.

Sandor nodded.

“That’s a long story. Maybe I’ll tell it to you next time I will be here.”

“But there won’t be the next time.”

Now it was Sandor who looked quite confused. He pinched the bridge of his nose, as if trying to understand the meaning of Sansa’s words.

“Why there won’t be the next time?” he had finally asked, his voice blank.

Almost blank - for a second Sansa thought she heard something like a prick of some pain in it, but probably it was just her imagination. Nobody could ever feel something like a _ pain _just because of the fact he won’t be able to see her again, and the future King of the Seven Kingdoms definitely could not feel this stupid pain.

“You will become the King tomorrow,” Sansa started to explain to him as there was a little Rickon in front of her, not a huge and mature Sandor Clegane. “You will have your guard, you will be busy with the issues of the realm, and you will have your own, more interesting life than you have now. And it will be improper for you to sneak out of your _ guarded _chambers at night just to talk with a lady in her rooms - it will give a soil to the terrible rumours, right?”

“Right,” Sandor quietly agreed. “It’s good you are thinking about the propriety and stuff. But your voice is shaking.”

“The window is open - I’m just getting cold,” Sansa yanked her shoulder.

  
  


“Right,” Sandor nodded. “But it doesn’t change the fact you are the worst mummer I ever met.”

He stood up, crossed her room in a couple of big steps, and carefully closed the window. He didn’t move after that, standing there and facing the window, his shoulders too tense - as if he was afraid of something. Sansa wanted to break the silence and tell him that, to be honest, she didn’t care about the propriety anymore, after all, she was nearly raped couple of nights ago and there was nothing else which could scare her after that, and that she really wanted to keep their strange nighttime meetings, and that Lady was definitely missing Sandor, and so did she - but it was Sandor who spoke first.

“I know you might be busy with the court life, and your betrothed who appeared to be _not the worst wanker ever_, and everything else,” he said, his shoulders becoming even more tense than before. “But I just wanted to say that I don’t want to put a stop to the time we are spending together. And I honestly don’t give a damn about the rumours or all other rubbish - but I know that your family won’t be happy if any of these rumours will appear and make _ their _life worse.”

“You mean - mine?” Sansa peeped in quietly.

“Their,” Sandor repeated, shaking his head. “I know you wouldn't give a damn either.”

“And if I did?”

“Then I’d decide someone else possessed your body. Like, a stupid lady from the court - or your mother.”

The whole atmosphere in the room was quite tense now, but Sansa still giggled.

“You know,” Sandor continued and turned around, now facing Sansa. There was that painful look in his eyes again, and Sansa had to shake her head to stop imagining it. “Today, when in that bloody sept, I was thinking at some point that I now with my father gone I was left all alone in this world. There were people all around me, and I was thinking I am drowning in the bottomless pool of unfamiliar faces - and it was the thought of only two people inside that stupid building with the seven corners which made me get back to my senses and realise I am still not completely alone. That I still have someone I could come to when there will be a need, and these people will hear me, listen to my fears and thoughts, and maybe even help - and that’s how I honestly survived the whole vigil.”

Sansa blinked. It kind of felt if there was some wetness in the corners of her eyes, but she didn’t think of it.

“And you are one of those people,” Sandor sighed, sounding defeated. “So then, when the service had finally ended, I ran away and got myself some extra drink, to get away from the helpless feeling and the whole creepy atmosphere of the funerals - I always hated funerals, and yet I never visited them until today, you know?”

“And what happened then?” Sansa whispered.

“And then I decided that there won’t be a chance I will give up these meetings with you. Well, unless you will decide to kick me out of your room the next time I will come to talk to you - or set your fluffy direwolf on me.”

“Lady won’t hurt you,” Sansa’s smile was weak, but at least she was able to smile now.

“And I won’t hurt you,” Sandor replied. “And won’t let any rumours to hurt you either. After all, I’ll be the King tomorrow - and I don’t think anyone will look forward to meet my disappointment.”

Sansa smiled again - but at the same time just shook her head.

“I’d gladly keep our meetings too, but…”

“There won’t be any _buts_,” Sandor cut her off. “I promise you, I will be really careful - no one in this castle will ever learn that we are being friendly with each other in the most improper way.”

“That’s not the _most _improper way for a young lady,” Sansa answered and felt her cheeks blushing.

“Then I don’t see any issue at all,” Sandor crossed his hands on his chest.

“It isn’t an issue,” Sansa sighed, accepting her defeat. “But only until I will get officially betrothed. Then things will change.”

“They will,” Sandor said in a distant tone. He looked at Sansa once again, grumbled some goodnight words, and then he was gone - as suddenly as he appeared on the threshold of her rooms, leaving Sansa alone and confused even more than before.

  
  


* * *

  
  


The next day, Sandor of House Clegane was finally named the King.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i hope you're enjoying this story :)  
i didn't forget about my other ongoing works (pls check them if you want (; ), but at the moment i had a proper inspiration for that particular fanfic, so... hope you liked that many updates :'D  
anyway, i won't be updating anything until the middle of the next week (or maybe tuesday) as i'm going away for a short holidays (yay to the independence day), so i'll see you later and stay tuned (:  
and thank you for all your support! i'd suddenly realised i'm posting updates for this fanfic for more than a month already, and there's still no proper sansan happening, what! :'D i'm sorry!


	12. In which Arya's Wishes Come True, and Ned is Suspicious

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm back

“Boy, it’s time to wake up!”

Arya grunted and tried to open her sleepy eyes. As soon as she tried to sit on her small bed, the headache and sickness from yesterday came back and she fell on her pillow, making an annoying sound.

“I’m sick again,” she coughed, hoping that the bucket won’t be needed at least today.

Byam, an old man who came to wake her up, just shook his head.

“If you knew you will be seasick, why in the Seven Hells you decided to join our party at all?” he grumbled, coming next to the small window and putting offhand curtains away. Arya caught a glimpse of sunshine, and her head started to hurt even more. She cursed under her breath (well, in the way she was able to _learn _how to curse while living in Winterfell), rolled on her stomach and tried to cover her head with a pillow - but Byam was much faster than her, flicking out the poor piece of a fabric stuffed with some chicken feathers.

“Boy, you need to get up and help us,” he sighed, looking at Arya with some sort of annoyance and pity. “It’s our second day of travels, and you are already acting like a high-born lady, that’s not how the things will go, trust me.”

Arya wanted to stick her tongue out and tell the old man she _is _a high-born lady, but the new wave of nausea had reached her again, so she had to cover her mouth with both hands and turn away.

“Your bucket is outside,” Byam turned away as well and stumped to the door. “Take care of yourself, dress and get out of here - we need you on a deck.”

As soon as he left her cabin, Arya climbed down from her bed and, wiggling, reached the door. She opened it just for a little bit, so she could stretch out her hand, get the bucket and close the door again. As she did so, Arya had realised that her nausea had vanished. She decided it was a good sign, so the bucket was put in the corner of her cabin with the thought she won’t be needed it anymore. Arya hummed a simple tune she had heard somewhere and went back to her bed to put on new clothes and prepare herself for going out on the deck - which now was full of strangers she had to spend the next two weeks with.

Well, not really strangers, at least Arya knew the Lord she was travelling with. She had never met him before his arrival to Winterfell couple of days ago, but considering he was a _ Lord_, Arya decided it will be enough to trust him and his cause, cut her hair and steal some clothes from her castle two breeches and tunics belonged to some stable boys, and the rest of her clothes she found in a store, probably they were by Jon or Robb couple of years before), sneak out of Winterfell in a fuss caused by the Lord’s take-off and her uncle’s arrival, disguise herself as a curious boy from the Wintertown, and thrust herself upon joining the travel party on their way to King’s Landing as an additional help. Her tale of a poor orphan who wanted to see the world and learn something new had worked somehow, probably of her typical northern looks and the fact that she never met anyone from this party before, and then she was offered a spare horse and in a couple of very short (in Arya’s opinion) days, she was finally on the board of the ship which was taking her to the capital, where her father and sister were.

The only problem was that as soon as the ship had gathered speed, Arya had suddenly discovered she had a terrible seasickness she was never aware of.

The northern warriors from her party had chaffed with her and said that she just needed some rest tonight. The first experience of a sea journey can be like this, they said, and Arya had a huge hope that she will be left alone in her cabin until their arrival to the capital.

But it looked like the men didn’t share her hopes at all.

Arya combed her short hair with her palm, rubbed her cheeks so she wouldn’t look like a walking corpse, and went outside of her cabin. It was quite cloudy, but in Arya’s opinion the sun was shining too bright, but she had squeezed her eyes almost completely and walked to the cooking galley to get some food for her breakfast. And a lot of water, too, so her seasickness could be more bearable.

Moments later, she was sitting on some empty barrels on the deck, a large mug of water in her left hand, and chewing on some tough but tasty dried meat. Byam had already spotted her on her way from the galley and asked to join the rest of the men on the other side of the deck when she will be done with her breakfast, apparently, their Lord had traded their passage for the help from his men. Well, if it was the only price Arya had to pay to successfully run away from Winterfell and be on her way to some proper adventures, she was fine with it. Arya swallowed the last piece of meat and gulped down the whole mug of water just in several goes.

“I see you are doing well, boy?”

Arya put the mug aside, wiped her mouth with the back of her hand (she had already learned that it was what men had always done after a proper drink), and shrugged, trying to look as calm as it was possible.

“I’m doing well, thank you,” she bowed her head, but just a little bit, not like her brothers did in the presence of someone from a noble family - after all, she had to act as a simple orphan boy from the village, and then added. “M’lord.”

The leader of their travel party, the Lord of Bear Island, nodded in response and perched himself on a barrel in front of Arya, his hands crossed on his chest and his eyes as if scanning her through. Arya shivered, hoping that her cheeks won’t turn red, or her body will let her secret out somehow else.

“Byam told me you have a seasickness,” Lord Mormont said. “Have you ever been on the ship before, boy?”

“I haven’t,” Arya shook her head.

“Then why have you decided to join us on our way to the capital? It’s not a careless walk, boy.”

It looked like he didn’t denounce her, so Arya felt herself relax a little bit.

“I wanted to go somewhere far away, m’lord,” she said, casting her eyes down. “I’m an orphan, so no one will miss me in the North, and it looked like my only chance to escape that place, y’know.”

The man continued to look at Arya, as if trying to examine her from head to foot, but his expression didn’t show anything suspicious at all. There was no reply from him, and when Arya had raised her head fully she realised that Lord Mormont was deep in his thoughts, so Arya took it as a possibility to take a proper look at him.

She had heard about this man from her parents before and had also met some of his nieces who visited Winterfell on several occasions before, but the man himself had never crossed the threshold of their castle. Lord Eddard was visiting Bear Island with his wife and the oldest son couple of times, once they even took Jon and Sansa with them, but Arya was still considered too small for such a trip, so she had to stay home. Back then, Arya was pouting for hours or just run away somewhere to lash out or cry for a little bit, but now she realised that this decision of her parent had turned to her liking now. Lord Jorah Mormont had no idea how Lady Arya Stark had looked like, and Lady Arya Stark looked like a typical northern girl. Or, with her hair cut and clothes changed, like a northern boy.

And Jorah Mormont looked a bit like her father - but he was shorter and not as handsome as her father was. Arya had heard before that the members of the Mormont family sometimes were referred as bears, but she had seen a bear at the market before - and this man didn’t look like the said bear at all. He was stronger, his hands and even neck were hairy, but there were bald places on his head, and, opposite to the poor bear, he was a free man. He even had a sword, and what a sword it was - long and strong, and with a funny bear head on its pommel. Arya had always dreamed of a sword, admiring her father’s one and casting jealous glances on the ones her brothers had. But the sword of Lord Mormont was the best one from all swords Arya had ever seen in her life.

Jorah Mormont came back from his thoughts and chuckled.

“You like my sword, boy?” he asked, moving his hand on the pommel.

Arya eagerly nodded.

“I’ve always wanted to have one, m’lord,” she answered honestly. After all, she was acting as a boy now, and it was quite common for the boys to dream of becoming lords or knights, even if the boy himself was just a son of a washerwoman and a smith.

“Maybe you will get yourself a sword one day, who knows,” Lord Mormont tapped his fingers on the bear on the pommel. “If you will decide to stay in the capital, you could always choose a path which will make you a knight one day.”

The idea of her own sword was a thrilling one, the possibility to become a knight wasn’t (after all, Arya considered herself a proper daughter of the North and wasn’t sure that she wanted to be on the same level as all those southern puffy and tumid knights), but she just nodded.

“I hope you’re right, m’lord,” she bowed her head.

“What’s your name, boy?”

“Jon,” Arya answered straight away. She decided to call herself by the name of her beloved brother, and there were too many Jons all over the North, so Arya considered it could work.

“Jon,” the man was looking at her with some sort of interest again. “I see. So tell me, Jon, why have you decided to leave the North? Apart from being an orphan and having nobody to look after you there.”

“I think it’s a proper reason for changing your place, m’lord.”

“It is,” Jorah Mormont nodded. “But still. You should know that the winter is almost here, and the North will need its every son or daughter to survive.”

“Winter is coming,” Arya mumbled immediately.

“Excuse me, I didn’t catch it?”

“‘Tis nothing, m’lord,” Arya mumbled again. “I know that all of us will be needed when the winter will be here, but I want to get stronger before we will face it, y’know? M’lord.”

Jorah Mormont narrowed his eyebrows and nodded.

“That’s a good reason, Jon. And I hope you are a man - or, should I say, a boy of honour, and you will help your homeland when it will be in need.”

“I will!” Arya even waved her hand as if it proved her words. “I really want to help the North, m’lord, with the winter and all those strange murders, but there’s no way for me to learn how to get stronger and be helpful while I am at home. So I’ve left for the capital.”

“I got your point,” Lord Mormont scratched his beard. “I still believe that there’s a huge number of great warriors in the North who could lend a helping hand to a boy with such a desire to serve his home, but if you think that you’ll be able to learn these things in King’s Landing it’s fine too.”

“Thanks for your support, m’lord!” Arya beamed with a wide grin.

“But tell me one more thing before I’ll leave,” the man sighed and crossed his hands on his chest again. “What are those strange murders you’ve mentioned?”

Arya faded, cursing her too long tongue inside her head. She knew that the news which was brought by her and Jon didn’t go public yet, as her mother had discussed the issue with ser Rodrik, Jory, and Maester Luwin, and their decision was not to spread the news straight away: the crows were sent to the capital and the households of northern lords, as well as to the Castle Black, and the number of patrols was doubled to make sure the lands around Winterfell and Wintertown are under protection. Lady Catelyn thought that spreading the panic and rumours won’t help the issue, and they were waiting for any reply or advise from Lord Stark or Jeor Mormont, as well as looking forward the news if any similar onslaught had happened somewhere in the North. Arya also knew that the arrival of the travel party from Bear Island was somehow connected to the issue and Lord Mormont was travelling to see the newly crowned King and bring him some news from his father, but now she wasn’t Lady Arya Stark who knew all these details (or, to be more precise, who shamelessly eavesdropped and learned all those things), and there was no way she could tell Jorah Mormont that she saw the dead bodies herself - it was Lady Arya who found them not a young orphan called Jon from the village in an opposite side of Winterfell.

“I’ve heard the rumours,” she shrugged, trying to look as neutral as she could. “I mean, there are always loads and loads of rumours at the market, m’lord. I don’t know what they were talking ‘bout, but it sounded suspicious, and I decided to protect the North from any kind of harm - including murderers.”

“I see,” Jorah Mormont made a low chuckle. “You truly are a kind-hearted boy, Jon, and I can see your dedication too - but at some points, you are sounding too young. How old are you?”

“One and ten,” Arya answered, and then added quickly not to be too suspicious. “Had turned just some weeks ago, m’lord.”

“I believe some people are still calling you a child?”

Arya had thought about her household, about her brothers and parents, and sighed.

“Sometimes. But I’m not a child.”

“One and ten is sometimes considered as a time just before you will meet an adulthood.”

“But some boys are already training properly at this age,” Arya pouted. “I mean, I’ve heard that Sandor Clegane was fighting during Robert’s rebellion, and he was just a year older than I am!”

“You shouldn’t call His Grace just like this,” Jorah Mormont shook his head with a smile. “Plus, Lord Clegane was three times taller than you when he was two and ten, and three times wider too - of course, he was able to fight as a proper soldier.”

“Have you seen him there?” Arya asked not being able to hunt away her curiosity. 

Lord Mormont nodded.

“I fought on the side of the rebels that time, together with Lord Stark and the rest of northern lords. And then I was representing Bear Island during the coronation of King Kastor - or _ Our _Good King, as he is called among the smallfolk. That was the first time I have properly met the new heir to the Iron Throne.”

“But is he as ugly as people are talking?”

“He has the scars which were given to him by the man who was called his brother, that’s true,” Jorah Mormont nodded. “But it’s a big mistake to call him ugly.”

“But he _ is _ugly, right, m’lord?”

Jorah made a sad laugh.

“You are really just a young boy, Jon,” his lips made a weak smile. “One day you will learn that the real ugliness of people around us is in their souls, not on their faces or bodies. Gregor Clegane was an ugly one, and not his brother. But maybe you are still too young to understand it yet, and I can’t blame you - after all, you’re still in your best years, and trust me, it’s for the best that you could stay like that as long as it is possible.”

Arya nodded silently. She had heard so many times from her parents that nobody had to judge people according to their looks, and Sansa was also reminding her about it every time Arya tried to make a joke about their prince’s ugly face, but it was Sansa, and for sure she didn’t think about prince Clegane as a _ person_. Most probably it was only his _title _Sansa tried to defend, and Arya knew how her sister enjoyed all these stupid tales about beautiful princes all years ago.

Jorah Mormont stretched his hands and stood up.

“Well, it’s time for me to go and see to some important tasks,” he said. “Still need to talk to our captain, and there’s also a raven I need to send back as soon as possible - you know, sometimes it’s not very polite to make women to wait for the reply,” he laughed. “Have a nice day, Jon - and come to see me after the dinner. I think I know what we can do with your current situation.”

“What do you mean, m’lord?” Arya felt her legs going numb.

“I mean, with your desire for training and everything else,” Lord Mormont shrugged. “I still think you’re too young and physically small for proper training - but maybe you can start your warrior’s path as a squire. What do you think?”

“I think it sounds very generous, m’lord!” Arya jumped up and made a courtesy bow - a bit too polite for a poor orphan, but at this particular moment, she didn’t care about it.

After all, her plan had worked even better than she expected, if even the noble Lord of Bear Island, whose family was mostly made of women, wasn’t able to tell the difference and thought she was a boy.

After Jorah Mormont left, Arya stretched her body and went to find Byam, humming a happy tune on her way. She didn’t want to do any type of a dirty job, but it would be fair to fulfil her promise and help him today. After all, it definitely will be the last time of her doing any work for the warriors, as she was about to become a proper squire to the proper Lord, and nothing else in the world could make Arya happier at this moment.

***

The first fortnight of Sandor Clegane being the King went much better than Ned had expected. Of course, it was seen from a distance that Clegane was quite inexperienced in some sort of Royal protocols and other things he called ‘Royal rubbish’, but he was patient (well, as much as Sandor Clegane could ever be), he listened to the opinion of his advisors, and what was most important, he was trying to follow his father’s ways. He was a bit harsher than Lord Kastor, he didn’t look sorry for using some _not-so-Royal _words during the council meetings and audiences in the Great Hall, and he announced that under no reason he will wear the crown unless it was some sort of Great feast, but otherwise he was doing well.

After his coronation, Sandor Clegane announced an important meeting of the Small Council (Ned was invited there too), where he briefly said that he doesn’t want to make any changes in the list of his advisors and that he wanted Lord Stark to stay a bit longer in the capital. Clegane explained that all of them needed to work on their strategy regarding Aegon Targaryen’s possible invasion, as well as on some other important things, so they can be ready for any possible problems and Lord Stark with his family can be on his way back to Winterfell.

“If someone of your household won’t decide to stay behind, of course,” Stannis Baratheon added after King’s words. His younger brother, who was present at the meeting as well, rolled up his eyes.

“I hope you’re not turning into Robert in his wish to marry Joffrey and Sansa even before her next nameday,” he muttered so quietly, that only Ned was able to hear, and Renly didn’t receive his portion of scolding from Stannis.

_ Other _important things had appeared just a couple of days after the coronation. First, there was a shabby raven from Winterfell, who crossed the whole distance much faster than the other flying messengers did. There was a formal letter for the new King and his Council, as well as a small note from Catelyn just for himself. From the letter, they learned about a strange and kind of suspicious onslaught which had happened in the woods not too far from their home. Poor Arya had found the bodies, dead, bloodless, and settled in a very strange pattern, as if someone was trying to make it look like those poor people were murdered by some sort of a cult. And the note from Catelyn contained some short stories about his youngest children and loads of kisses from his wife. All of them were missing their father and husband, and Ned was thinking to ask Clegane at least for a short trip back to Winterfell, when the second raven arrived.

This one was bigger and older than the raven from Winterfell, but looked relaxed and ready for his next long flight. He came directly from the Castle Black, and in the short letter from the Lord Commander Mormont, it was told that they had spotted the Others behind the Wall.

“The Others?” Stannis narrowed his eyebrows after reading the letter aloud. “Weren’t they just some scary creatures from the old tales?”

“They weren’t,” Ned sighed, and the next half an hour he spent explaining the King and the others member of Small Council what they had always believed in the North.

“Sounds like a nonsense,” Clegane stated after Ned was done. “But I’m afraid it’s exactly what makes these creatures real.”

“We think they _are _real,” Ned nodded, feeling a bit relieved that the down-to-earth Clegane took his story as something serious. “Or, as we hoped, they _ were _real thousands of years ago.”

“History has a habit to repeat itself,” Varys commented, and Clegane made a low sound which reminded Ned of one Lady and Grey Wind were doing every time they thought their masters’ commands were a total rubbish.

“Why it decided to repeat itself too literally exactly at the time I climbed on that bloody throne,” he complained.

“Well,” Stannis shrugged. “We can’t do anything. Lord Commander informed us that his son must be on his way to King’s Landing with more precise information and some things we might find interesting - so at this moment the only thing we can do is to wait - and to pray nothing else will happen in the North.”

“And get ourselves ready for that Aegon prick,” Renly snorted.

The meeting was dismissed, and when Ned had told Sansa they will have to stay in the capital longer than it was initially planned, she nodded with a shy smile.

“I’m enjoying my time here,” Sansa said, and for Ned, it sounded a little bit too suspicious.

Sansa was spending almost all her time on the activities which meant she was on her own - or with Lady by her side. She was reading in the gardens, praying in the Godswood or sept, going for the walks - but she never went outside of the Red Keep and never had a proper company. Sometimes she was joined by Joffrey for their short strolls (Robb was always present nearby and every time he kept reporting that nothing improper had happened between Sansa and her betrothed), sometimes Ned would spend a couple of hours with Sansa in the library, but that was it. His sweet daughter, who had always preferred to be in the company of some girls of her age, had truly enjoyed her time alone while being in the place where she could make a handful of new friends. That didn’t look like Sansa, and Ned started to wonder about her behaviour.

He shared his thoughts with Robert, but his old friend just laughed merrily and said that it meant his daughter was finally turning into a proper lady - who was ready to be married. He added that with a wink, and Ned sighed. He was aware that Robert wanted the marriage between Sansa and Joffrey to happen as soon as possible, but deep inside Ned was not so sure if it had to happen _that _soon.

“She is still a child,” he sighed, but it didn’t make Robert to change his opinion on the subject.

“She’s a woman flowered and properly raised, and let me remind you that here, in the South, almost half of young ladies of Sansa’s age are already married - and some of them are already expecting their firstborns.”

“We have a bit different customs in the North,” Ned grumbled. “Besides, your wife wasn’t _ that _young on the day of your marriage.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Robert waved his hand as if he wanted to stop the utter nonsense Ned was telling him. “After all, Joffrey and Sansa can be joined in marriage and not rush with the heirs - I don’t think you will be happy enough to be called _ Grandfather _Stark, right?”

Ned chuckled, and the tension had disappeared straight away. Maybe Robert was right, and Sansa was already grown and wise enough to enter the married life - after all, when Ned decided to follow Sansa one day and pay attention to her behaviour, he decided that his daughter was looking as if she was in love.

Of course, he went straight to Sansa and asked her if she had some tender feelings for another person. Sansa’s cheeks went red, her eyes widened, and she mumbled in a bit scandalised voice that she _definitely _didn’t have any feelings towards anyone except of friendship, but Ned knew his daughter too well. Even better than Sansa knew herself. So he patted her shoulder, apologised for his stupid questions, and headed over to his rooms.

His sweet daughter _was _in love. And taking into account her activities for the past weeks, she had to be in love with Joffrey, as he was the only person apart from her family Sansa was spending time with. Maybe she was afraid to admit that she had suddenly changed her attitude towards her undesired betrothal, maybe she was just a bit confused about her feelings, but it was love. And Ned, who knew pretty well how the people in love were acting while nobody was around, was happy for her. After all, Sansa had mentioned that there was a friendship - and it could be a great start for their future life as husband and wife.

He decided not to share his thoughts with Robert just yet - Sansa’s nameday was less than in a month, and Ned wanted to make a small feast for her, so his daughter could enjoy her time with some food, music, and, of course, her betrothed. He asked Stannis if it was possible to organise this feast in the Red Keep, then checked with Jon Arryn about the monetary side of the question (luckily, his old friend and mentor was happy enough to offer his help in that delicate question), and now Ned was just counting days before his daughter will finally get older.

Hopefully, the next year of her life will be blessed by the Old and New Gods, and Ned was ready to do anything to make his daughter happy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ugh


	13. In which Dany Faces an Important Choice, and Sansa Tries to Accept Reality

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lots of thoughts and talking, and Sansa is just a confused girl.  
Dany might look a bit of OOC, but well, everyone is a bit of OOC of her due to their different background :'D

Dany really wanted to go back to Dorne, but Oberyn shrugged and said they had to wait until the will discuss her betrothal with Sandor Clegane. Oberyn was a hot-blooded person who lacked patience and hated to wait, and Dany was hoping he will support her wishes of quick stay, but this time he had nothing to offer her except of waiting. Dany was thinking if he wanted to stay in King’s Landing as he had some plans which featured the new King and Oberyn’s poisons, but somehow there was no plan at all.

Sandor Clegane was too busy for the first fortnight of his reign, and it was Eddard Stark who was apologising on his behalf and telling her or Oberyn that the King hopes to meet his possible bride as soon as he will have time for it. Dany pouted every time Lord Stark was leaving them, but Oberyn said they had to wait - so now it was the only possible option for her. Travelling to Dorne on her own would be the dumbest decision of her life, so Dany had to sit and wait patiently when _ His Grace _will be ready to attend the private audience with her.

She decided not to waste her time completely, so Dany made herself comfortable with the place she was trapped now in. It was the place where her ancestors were living for ages, so she had to feel some sort of connection with the ancient walls, but the truth was that Daenerys felt… nothing. She even spit on the propriety and sneaked to the underground passage, where the bones and skulls of now unreal dragons were laying on the stone floor, but she still felt nothing. Dany was hoping to get a small tingle in her body or soul, but when she stood in the darkness, her hair loose, surrounded by the remains of her ancestors’ reign, the only thought which visited her head was the desire to leave this place and go back to Dorne.

If Viserys was with her, he would have that weird connection with his past, run away to the Great Hall and attempt to overthrow Sandor Clegane straight away. Of course, after saying that Dany was a stupid girl. 

And maybe she was, but getting back to the keep and feeling the soft caresses of fresh air on her skin made Dany happier than being on her own with something which was the only thing left from her _ Royal _life. She could be a princess, she could live in the Red Keep, but would she be as happy as she was now?

Ser Willem told her that she always needs to remember her family and her past. And Dany remembered, but it was too difficult for her now to realise there was the said connection Viserys was blabbering about. Somehow this string that connected her with her past faded away, burnt under the hot dornish sun, and it was the same moment she made a step out of the passage Daenerys Targaryen understood she didn't _want _to have that connection at all.

The life of a high-born girl with certain responsibilities and without the burden of the power on her shoulders looked much better than what was assigned to her before she was even born. Maybe the God's were wise and they knew that the Targaryen era had met its end, by putting a completely different person on the Throne and making her desire things she could never get while being the Queen.

For now, she just had to politely refuse Sandor Clegane's offer and get back to her quiet life. And when Lord Stark visited them again and told that the King was available for the audience this afternoon, Dany felt a huge wave of relief covering her from head to toes. She knew from Oberyn that it was Lord Stark who wanted to see this betrothal working, so there was a tiny hope that Clegane will be easier to talk to and will accept her decision to refuse the betrothal.

Dany had a chance to observe him a little bit during the funerals, coronations, and some Court audiences, as well as stealing some glances at him from her window when he was nearby the training yard. To be honest, this man was nothing she had pictured in her mind before arriving at King’s Landing. He was harsh, he was not Royal at all, but he had morals and pride, which was completely different from the morals and pride of men Dany grew up with. But there was something inside him that made her think that the Gods were wise enough to make exactly Sandor Clegane the next King of the Seven Kingdoms, but it was difficult for Dany to say what exactly made Clegane the perfect King. Was it his physical strength, was it his iron spirit, was it the fact he was a foul mouth and had quite a short temper - she didn’t know. But somehow Dany felt that the realm was in the good hands.

Sometimes she wondered, was it the connection with her ancestors which was giving her these thoughts, or was it just her desire to leave this place as soon as she and Oberyn could, but Dany had accepted this thought and was hoping that Sandor Clegane will agree with her decision to call off the betrothal.

Viserys would _definitely _say she was a fool and write down a list why Sandor Clegane was the worst person to sit on the Iron Throne, but somehow Daenerys didn’t care about his opinion. Maybe if they took Viserys to the capital, he would have more opportunities to spend some time with Clegane and change his mind. There was a little chance this change of mind could happen, but Dany decided that her brother should try to spend some time with the new King in the future. It will be good experience for him to get closer to the High Court, and the time in King’s Landing will help him to open his eyes and mind and realise that not everything in this life was about power, ancestry, and some old tales which prejudged their destinies.

Dany smiled to herself and decided to talk to Oberyn about sending her brother to the capital, but it definitely will happen later on. Now she had to meet Sandor Clegane and solve the issue of their ridiculous betrothal. When the guard came to take her to the King’s quarters, Dany decided not to change her simple everyday dress and not to comb her hair, just in case. Hopefully, Clegane wasn’t into frowsy wenches.

They arrived in the chambers before him, and the guard asked Dany to make herself comfortable and wait for the King inside, while he stepped outside and went back to his duties. In other words, he went to guard the door of the solar, but this young lad was so enthusiastic about his mission that Dany just smiled and bowed her head. When she was left alone, Dany made her way to the soft couch and sat on its edge, her hands folded on her knees. After some thoughts, she decided that it wasn’t the best time to act as a noble lady who wanted to attract the attention of the King, so she made herself comfortable _for real_, sinking back against the pillows and suddenly feeling so small in this solar. Well, of course, Clegane had his furniture much bigger than the tiny lady like her needed, but it still made Dany giggle from the thought how she would be drowning in the chairs or not reaching the bookshelves in their possible married life.

Sandor Clegane appeared on the threshold of the chambers while she was still giggling, and it took Dany a serious effort to become serious as fast as she could. The King looked tired, pissed off with something, and there was a high possibility that this conversation won’t work how Dany wanted, but she braced herself and sat straight on the couch.

“Your Grace,” she said in a very polite way, and Clegane flinched, turning on his heels and facing her.

“Oh, right,” he mumbled quietly, and Dany realised that he completely forgot about their meeting.

He sat on the couch in front of her, rubbing his temple, and suddenly Daenerys realised that Clegane looked _really _awful. Not in terms of his looks, of course, she was already used to his face, along with every other person in Westeros, and it didn’t look like something which could scare her or make her shiver from disgust. It was his tired expression and dark circles under his eyes, and it was the second time when Dany thought she was glad she wasn’t a member of the Royal family anymore. Sandor Clegane was a fierce warrior who could spend days and nights outside of the warm house, sleeping on the ground or take the sleepless watch, but it took him just two weeks being the King to start looking like rubbish.

“So,” he rasped, finally taking his hand away from his head. “You’re here to talk about this _ betrothal_, right?”

He didn’t sound like the royalty at all - not even like a nobility, to be honest, and judging from how he pronounced that word he wanted to add _ ‘bloody’ _in his phrase, too. But Danny didn’t care, and she kind of wanted to giggle again.

“I am,” she answered, deciding not to call him a _ Grace _anymore - she kept in mind how Clegane’s burnt side of the mouth was twitching every time someone was referring to him like this during the Court audiences.

Sandor Clegane nodded.

“Then, let’s make quick and clear,” he sighed, his right hand twitched as if he wanted to rub his temple again. “Lord Stark was the one who came up with the whole idea of getting me a bride, so I beg your pardon, but I’m not looking to get married now at all.”

_ Oh. _

“I thought I will be the one who will try to end this betrothal today,” Dany mumbled and took a deep breath. “Well, then it means the betrothal is successfully called off and both of us can return to their normal lives, right?”

Sandor Clegane made a barking smile.

“I wish I could return,” he grumbled. “Still, there are some things to be done before both of us can part their ways. I’m taking the issue with Lord Stark on myself, hopefully, he will accept the fact that I wasn’t the only person who was against this betrothal. Is there anyone among the Martell who will be unhappy with our _ mutual _decision?”

Dany shook her head.

“I don’t think anyone will be disappointed with my decision,” she said and then chuckled. “Well, apart from my brother.”

“Your brother wanted to marry you off?” Clegane narrowed his eyebrows.

“My brother wanted to see me as the Queen” Dany sighed. “He knows that there’s no chance he can get the Iron Throne back to himself, so I was his only hope”

“And do you want to be the Queen?” Clegane asked. Dany feared there will be danger in his voice, or he will become suspicious she came to claim back what belonged to her family, but instead his voice sounded too tired.

As if there was a list of people who were hoping to overthrow him for own benefit.

“I was dreaming to become the Queen when I was a child,” Dany answered. She didn’t like to share her childhood wishes and dreams with people around, even with her brother, but she knew that honesty can be the right tool for her relationships with the new King. “But I think it is the stage in the life of every girl, even the lowborn one. I grew up, learned more about the things which were surrounding me, and that helped me to realise that the power or a crown on my head aren’t the things I wish for myself in the future.”

Clegane listened to her story, simply nodding at the wrong moments and looking like he went deeply to his thoughts.

“Tell me,” he suddenly interrupted Dany when she was trying to describe her experience of visiting the Keep’s grounds. “If there will be a chance for your brother to sit on the Iron Throne, are you going to support him?”

Dany chuckled.

“My brother is a nice man, Your Grace, but I don’t think he is the right person for ruling the Seven Kingdoms. He can do well as a Lord of a small keep, but he will never make a proper King, that’s what I am sure of.”

Clegane snorted.

“Don’t you think it isn’t nice to have such low expectations of your sibling?” he asked, half-joking.

“I don’t have _low _expectations of him, but sometimes people just cannot withstand a heavy burden on their shoulders. And the power is the heaviest of the ones I know about.”

“So you are trying to tell me your brother will mess everything up as soon as the crown will be fitted on his head,” Sandor Clegane’s laugh sounded like a bark. “I got it, right.”

“I believe you won’t be really happy to give your throne to someone else, anyway,” Dany shrugged.

“When I was told my father was to become the King, I wanted to jump down the highest cliff to avoid the destiny of the next person in line,” Clegane grumbled. “And when I’ve learned about the death of my father, I hoped there will be any tiny chance to escape my fate somehow - but let me tell you, it’s impossible with Stannis Baratheon on your side.”

Dany had heard enough about the stubborn character of the Hand, so she quietly chuckled again.

“And what about now?” she asked. “Do you still want to give the Throne to someone else?”

“Not after everything I went through during these weeks,” Sandor Clegane was joking again, she was sure - but then small wrinkles appeared on his forehead. “Look, I’m still not _happy _to sit on this throne, but what I’ve learned is that somehow it became my _duty_. It’s hard to change yourself completely when you are living for the third decade already, but everyday people around me remind me that I _ have _to follow this duty.”

Judging from the dark circles under his eyes, Sandor Clegane was taking his duty _too _seriously.

“That’s very good to know you are feeling the connection between yourself and the Throne,” Dany answered, bowing her head politely, remembering what Oberyn told her before this audience. “Please remember that Dorne will be supporting your case and you can always count on us when needed.”

“Already think of yourself as a dornishwoman?” Clegane laughed, but there was no scorn in his voice.

“Kind of,” Dany smiled. “After all, I grew up there and don’t want to trade people who surrounded me since I was a girl and the warm sea for something else.”

“Even for your family?”

That was a very strange question, at first Dany thought it will be another joke from the King, who didn’t even act like a _ proper _King, but Clegane’s eyes had lost its calmness straight away, and he raised his hand to rub his temple.

“Me and my brother are the last Targaryens,” Dany said. “We are both living in the Dorne and are not looking forward to moving somewhere else. If you,” she swallowed. “If you think that we _still _want to pretend on your place or raise in rebellion, then I think you’re wrong. I know that you can have little trust in Martells, especially considering the _ history _between our families, but there’s nothing for you to worry about, I swear.”

“I’m not doubting your words,” Sandor Clegane answered. “But there’s another thing which has to be discussed between two of us today - well, Stannis won’t be really happy I decided to talk to you about it during our private audience, but I think it will be better like this. Look, I know it sounds unbelievable, but you and your strange brother aren’t the last Targaryens.”

“_ Excuse me? _”

His words struck Dany to the point she forgot how to breathe for a moment.

That wasn’t true, it was just her and Viserys left in this world, it was completely impossible there was someone else who was _connected _to her by blood.

“I’ve learned about it quite recently,” Clegane sighed. “But some sort of plot had happened before the most crucial battle of Robert’s rebellion, and your nephew…”

“Aegon,” Dany whispered.

“Yeah, him,” Clegane nodded. “Well, he was taken away and hidden across the sea - almost like it happened with you and your brother.”

“So my nephew is… alive?”

“We think so,” there was a nod again. “He was raised by one of the loyal to your family Lords, and even if the person who was involved in all these things tried to bring them back to join you in Dorne, they decided to live in disguise - until now.”

“Aegon is coming back to Westeros?” Dany heard her voice breaking down.

“He is,” Clegane answered with the heavy sigh. “Together with his mentor and the Golden Company - growing up away from Dorne had made him wish for the crown, unlike you.”

_ Oh_. So that’s why Sandor Clegane looked so distressed and was asking her all these questions about her _family_.

“So the question appears,” he sighed again and looked at Dany with his tired eyes. “Which side you, your brother, and the whole Dorne will pick when the things went completely different way everyone expected.”

It was unfair she had to take such an important decision on her right now, when initially she came here with a completely different purpose. The only thing Dany wanted now was to wake up in her bedroom in Sunspear, but the wishes seemed not to work properly in the capital.

  
  


***

  
  


“My dear Lady,” Joffrey smiled at her, offering his hand. “Would you be happy to join me for a walk this afternoon?”

Sansa sighed. Well, she was quite bored of sitting in her rooms on her own, with Lady being taken away by her father to the Godswood together with Grey Wind, but it didn’t mean she wanted to spend her time in Joffrey’s company. Plus, Robb was nowhere to be found, she had already tried to look for him and spend her afternoon in a company with her brother.

“I’m sorry, My Lord,” she answered, casting her glance down in a polite way. “But I am not sure it will be proper for me and you to go for a walk on our own.”

Joffrey laughed, and someone would probably decide that it was the sweetest laugh in the world - but not for Sansa.

“It is nice to realise I am betrothed to the most proper and well-raised Lady in the whole Westeros,” he said with a funny sparkle in his eyes. 

Sansa wanted to remind him that they weren’t betrothed _officially_, well, her father made some hints that the announcement will be made during the feast for her nameday, but somehow his confidence made her angry.

“I’m _very _sorry, My Lord,” she said, her voice full of honey. “But in the North, we are not allowing ourselves to give a room for any type of rumours. I don’t want my and my father’s name to be clouded, so I will have to refuse your offer, even if it saddens my heart.”

Joffrey sighed, promised her that they will go for a walk tomorrow, when Robb will be free, and finally left the library.

Well, somehow the courtesies Sansa started to hate had helped her to escape the prospect of spending some time with Joffrey. And because Sansa still wasn’t sure if she could trust him.

She was in the Red Keep for two weeks now, and still had no idea what man was Joffrey Baratheon in truth. He was nothing the rumours were picturing him, and with each day this impression was getting only stronger. He respected Sansa, he listened to her father and Lord Robert, he was a good companion, and there wasn’t any sign he could try to hit or rape someone. From the other hand, Sansa had already learned that people like that never showed their true face until nobody could stop them, so she decided that she can stay suspicious for a while, it definitely wouldn’t hurt her.

She paid attention to his hands as soon as the bandages were taken off, but it didn't matter anymore as after the week any bite made by delicate teeth of a young woman would fade away. It was a pity that Lady didn't try to bite the attacker, direwolf's teeth were always making deep marks. Speaking of Lady - she was Sansa's another hope, but the way her pet treated Joffrey was too strange even for a friendly creature like her. When Sansa tried to introduce him to Lady for the first time, the direwolf smelled his hands, wagged her tail and run away to the opposite side of the yard, where Robb and her brother were.

Sansa had no idea what it meant, she expected Lady either to jump on Joffrey and lick him, as she usually was doing with each new person who was formally introduced to her, or to start barking or bare her teeth with a growl, recognising the person who tried to hurt her mistress recently. And Lady did none of that, she just ran away, but not as if she was scared - otherwise, she would make a tiny whine and crawl backwards, her tail tugged to her body.

And this behaviour of her direwolf was making things only more difficult. Unfortunately, Sansa didn't know how to talk to animals (anyway the stories I'd being able to see through the animal's eyes were just a mere tale for the northern children), so there was no way she could find out what was happening in Lady's head.

The worst thing was that with this amount of information she still was stuck between her inner thoughts and the prospect of her being finally married off. Sansa had overheard Lord Robert's discussion with Lord Stannis one day, and the Lord of Storm's End was truly eager to see his house finally connected with the Starks. Sansa had her suspicion that the whole story with this betrothal had started because of Lord Robert's failure to wed her aunt, and somehow the Hand of the King had the same thoughts regarding Joffrey's marriage to Eddard Stark's daughter.

It looked like Lord Stannis was against every betrothal in this Keep, as her father was mentioning briefly how difficult it was to convince him to at least try to make a match between Sandor Clegane and Daenerys Targaryen, and Sansa had to put all her effort not to giggle and reveal herself for both Baratheon brothers.

She knew that her father also was waiting for her wedding, so he could finally see his daughter happy, but even if Sansa tried to explain him she definitely won't be happy in the company of Joffrey, it didn't work at all. The worst thing was that Ned Stark somehow decided Sansa was in love. And she wasn't, that what Sansa was sure of. There was no chance she could have _any _type of feelings for a suspicious man like Joffrey, and the other person she had a connection within this castle was Sandor. And Sandor was her friend, so yes, Sansa wasn't in love at all.

Thinking of Sandor, Sansa made a heavy sigh and stand up from her chair. She had to leave the library now and go to her chambers, it was getting dark outside and some extra sleep wouldn't hurt at all. She decided to skip tonight's lunch, especially after she grabbed some extra food from the kitchens on her way to the library, so Sansa closed the heavy door behind her and headed to the quarters she was living in.

Sandor… Well, to be honest, Sansa kind of missed his company. The last time she saw him face to face was the night before his coronation when he promised he will keep coming to her chambers for their usual talks, but after the fortnight falling asleep with her direwolf after the hours of waiting made Sansa think that some promises didn't work for the Kings.

She knew that Sandor was busy, she heard from the people who lived in the Keep that His Grace was spending _hours _on his duties, trying to make sure everything important would be done before he was leaving to his chambers. There was a bunch of girls from the kitchens, whom Sansa befriended quite quickly, who told her that Lord Clegane was skipping some of his meals just to make sure the things are done. Sansa wanted to hope that at least Lord Stannis would be able to look after his King and convince him to eat properly and have enough rest, but then the oldest girl, who probably was the head of the others kitchen maids, whispered that Lord Hand was skipping his meals too.

Well, at least these two were able to find the common language.

Being the King was a great challenge, and Sansa knew that for the first time Sandor will be _really _busy, but something inside her didn't want to hear these rational thoughts at all, and Sansa was missing her friend truly.

When she opened the door to her chambers, there was a happy bark - and Lady run to greet her mistress as soon as Sansa stepped on the threshold.

“Sansa,” her father stood up from the chair he was sitting in and followed the direwolf. “How was your day, girl?”

She hugged her father and quickly told him about her promenade in the garden full of autumn flowers, about her experience being a spectator at the training yard, and what books she had found in the library.

“Joffrey came to ask me for a walk as well,” she finished her story with a smile.

“And you accepted?”

“Of course I didn’t,” Sansa shrugged. “Robb was nowhere to be found, and without him and Lady nearby I wouldn’t go with any man for a walk.”

Well, she added in her mind, maybe she would consider walking with Sandor on her own, after all, she was more than sure he would never allow her getting hurt, and he knew very well about the propriety which surrounded Sansa - so Sandor was the only person whose invitation Sansa could accept. But it was better not to share these thoughts with her father.

“Very well,” Ned nodded. “I was thinking today about your days here, and had a conversation with Robert - maybe next time you should accept if your future betrothed will ask you for a stroll. I don’t think anyone in this Keep could be scandalised by such way of things.”

“Do you really want to announce our betrothal during the nameday feast?” Sansa asked even before she could think of her words.

Ned sighed. There was a bunch of new wrinkles on his forehead, and Sansa really wanted to hug him right now - but first, she needed to know what the answer regarding her future will be.

“I was thinking to do so,” her father confessed. “I mean, you are already a woman grown and flowered, many ladies of your age here are already married and expecting their child - but I don’t want to rush you for such things, don’t get me wrong. I wanted to announce the betrothal officially - and the time of marriage will be discussed much later on. After all, some families are betrothing their children years before the marriage can happen.”

Sansa shivered. The idea of her getting bedded by another man, especially the one whose behaviour she was questioning, was making her sick. The idea of carrying such a man’s child wasn’t better as well. Sansa had heard before that some ladies were happy to give birth to a child no matter who their father was, or what was the core of the relationships between these ladies and their husbands - but such way of things was unacceptable for Sansa at all.

“Father,” she swallowed. “If it will be possible, can you please announce it after the nameday? You know it still is a bit hard for me to embrace the fact I am getting betrothed to a person I don’t know and whom I was afraid for a while…”

“But both of us can see that Joffrey is nothing like people were depicting him, right?” Ned cut her in the middle of her phrase, his voice full of uncertainty. 

“He looks like he is different, that’s right,” Sansa said and took a short pause, thinking if she needs to share her suspicions and the whole experience which happened _that _night, but decided not to reveal these things to her father just yet. “But still, I’m worrying every time I need to think about my future. Maybe it will change later on, but for now - please, if you can, announce this betrothal after my nameday. At least I will have a day all for myself, and the feast will be full of joy and happiness for everyone.”

Ned rubbed his beard and sighed again.

“Robert won’t be happy of this way of things,” he said, but then just waved his hands. “Right, Sansa, I’ll do it how you are asking me. After all, you are my beautiful daughter, and not Robert.”

He laughed, trying to cheer her up, and Sansa smiled instead of the answer. She didn’t know herself if this smile was to cover her fears and concerns, or the genuine one, but still, she made a step forward and hugged her father.

“Thank you,” she whispered, and Ned hugged her back, soothingly stroking her hair.

“Have some proper sleep,” he said. “Tomorrow will be a better day, hopefully, for all of us.”

Sansa smiled again and bid a farewell to her father. As soon as Ned was gone, she went to the screen at the end of her chambers and changed her clothes for the nightgown. The bath will wait until the morning, she decided while brushing her hair and making a simple braid so they won’t be tossed and tangled in the morning. When it was starting to get colder, her perfect hair was acting very unpredictably sometimes, so it was better to keep an eye on them.

Sansa dipped candles on her table and climbed onto her large bed. Lady followed her with a happy noise, rolling near Sansa’s legs into a huge ball. Sansa made herself comfortable and decided that it was the perfect timing to fall asleep. It wasn’t too late, but if Sandor will come to visit her tonight, at least she will get some rest before his arrival. Sansa smiled to herself, closing her eyes, and thinking of what her strolls in the garden with Sandor could look like, accidentally falling asleep too quickly even for her liking.

When Sansa opened her eyes for the next time, it was already morning. Lady was running around her chambers with funny whines, and the sun was already shining. Sansa sighed and put away the furs, getting down from her bed and making the way to the screen. She had to prepare herself for the new day at the Court, and there was a bath to be taken, and her hair to be made up, and many other things to be done.

It was much better to fill her head up with all these little things, at least with them Sansa didn’t have too much time to think that another night had passed, and Sandor still was not keeping his promise to her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> <s>i was eating my breakfast and suddenly came up with another idea for another ongoing fanfic, please help me</s>


	14. In which the Beast Appears in the Vale, and Robb is Knocked Down for Three Times

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> <s>50k words and still no proper sansan...</s>

Owen had always considered himself a brave man. His hut was located closer to the woods than the others in their little village, so Owen had to face wild animals, outlaws on their run, and the other dangerous situations more often than any other person who lived nearby. Owen was brave, and he was also quite strong - after all, he was able to till the soil on his couple of years ago, after his horse had sprained its leg. He was winning every fight during the yearly marts after the harvest season, and his weapons (a huge axe and a sword he traded from one of the outlaws many years ago) always were sharp and ready to protect him, his family, and the whole village.

Everyone considered Owen as the strongest and bravest person in their small village, and he was quite amused to be called the one.

But apparently, some things still were able to scare the daylight out of his body.

One of these things was currently making itself comfortable in his garden, running circles and trying to find the best place for sleep. Sometimes this thing was yapping happily, which made Owen and his wife to shiver, and glue his children to the small window of their common room. Owen tried to shoo them away in case this thing will notice someone is peeping at it, but his dearest children were not able to sense the fear coming from the beast in their garden.

Owen had met hundreds of wolves in his life. Some of them he killed without any other thought, from some of them he had to run away, some of them, mostly the young pups, hadn't been interested in Owen at all, so he was able to sneak away. There was one wolf pup whom Owen took into his home - it happened during the last long winter years ago, Owen was a lad himself at that time. He went to the deep forest with his father to get more wood for their tiny hut. There was a young pup who was lost, crying and running to people who were his enemies. The pup was tiny, too thin even for a young wolf, and on his own, and Owen begged his father to take a little animal with them. He spent the rest of the winter with this wolf pup (who grew up quite quickly for Owen’s liking), fed him and tried to teach him some tricks. But as soon as the winter was gone, his father said that their hut wasn’t a proper place for a grown wolf, so Owen had to send his unusual pet away.

Yes, the history between Owen and wolves was quite long and intense, but the creature in his garden just _looked _like a wolf - but wasn’t the one. Well, it was twice bigger than the wolf which was living in this hut ages ago, it could kill a large man like Owen just with a single touch of its paw. The beast appeared from the woods on the sunset, wagging its tails and yapping happily, as if the sight of some strangers made the beast happy.

Of course, it was happy after noticing its future dinner, so Owen had to gather his children quickly and lock the door, so it will be harder for the giant wolf to break inside the hut. And of course, his children were moaning that they had to hide from the ‘big wolf’, as if they weren’t afraid of the beast which could kill them in a second.

“Maybe we should put a bowl with some food outside?” his wife whispered.

It was a good plan, if the beast had its stomach full, it definitely will become too lazy to make any attempt of attacking their hut to get some _fresh _meat. They took the biggest bowl, filled it with porridge, meat, and even some dry bread, and then Owen had to unlock the door and put the bowl next to the door quickly enough the beast won’t notice him. As soon as the door was locked again, there was a loud thump, as if a huge herd ran through his yard, which was followed by a happy and loud bark, and by the next sounds Owen assumed the beast was eating.

"It's so huge," his wife whispered again. "I wonder if it could be one of the wolves from the North?" 

"But the direwolves live only in the tales, mommy," his daughter replied in a hortative tone. "They are not real."

"If the beast is from the North, what on the Earth it forgot here, in the Vale?" Owen asked.

They stayed in the hut, watching the beast - who felt quite comfortable, finding a huge barrel I'd water and drinking almost a quarter of it in one go. Then it started to run around the yard, scarring chickens and making the dogs all over the area bark in fear. The giant wolf didn't pay any attention to these barks and was still wagging its tail, trying to look as the friendliest creature in the whole world. Then, getting too tired, it found a safe place near the barn and started to prepare itself for sleep.

"I can't believe this creature is just sitting there and washing itself," Owen blurted, dragging his children to their beds.

Soon the whole household was peacefully sleeping, even the hens had finally realised no one is going to eat them today and were sleeping on their perches. Owen probably was the last one to fall asleep, he spent the good half of the night lying on the pallet next to the door, his axe next to him. Maybe it was a silly decision, but Owen wanted to make sure his family is well-protected from any danger.

In the morning he woke up from the quiet scratch to the door. Owen stood up, took his axe with him and hid it behind his back. He listened again, there was a silence from the outside, but Owen was able to feel the presence of the beast in their yard. Probably it was sitting next to the hut's door and waiting for someone to come out and become its breakfast.

But they couldn't stay inside for the whole day, there were things he and his wife had to take care of, so the only thing Owen could do now was to open the door and check on the wolf. The axe was still in his hand, there was no way he could die just from the little touch of the beast. Well, there was a _ possibility _of it, but Owen quickly prayed to the Warrior and opened the door.

The beast of a wolf was sitting still in front of him as if it was just a mere dog. When it noticed Owen, it made a whine and pushed the empty bowl to his side.

Owen frowned, and the beast barked, tilting its head to the side.

"So you want the porridge?" 

The wolf barked again, this time happily. Owen sighed and took the axe out.

"Don't worry, I just want to drag the bowl with it," he explained as if the creature could understand him. 

It did. The wolf barked and moved a bit further from him, so Owen could get the bowl and fill it with some food. This beast was way more smarter than any animal Owen met in his life.

He went to the kitchen and put the remains of their dinner to the bowl. Yesterday this beast was happy enough not to touch them after its belly became full, so the same thing could work again. He also added extra dry meat on top, and judging by wolf's bark as soon as it saw the bowl, he made the right decision.

He placed the bowl on the ground and quickly stepped away, making sure the axe was nearby. The beast started to eat greedily, tiny pieces of porridge flying everywhere. Owen snorted, the beast was acting as if it was a tiny pup who was making its first attempts of eating on his own.

When the bowl was finally empty, the wolf sat straight and licked itself. Then there was a happy bark, and the beast looked directly at Owen, and he could have sworn that there was something conscious in that stare.

“So, you had your breakfast,” he shrugged. “Maybe it’s time for you to go?”

The wolf barked again, jumped on all fours and ran away, wagging its tail and yapping happily, making the dogs in the village break down in bark.

“It’s gone, right?” his wife asked as soon as Owen stepped back in the hut.

“Aye,” he answered, putting the axe away. “Ran somewhere towards the south - well, the Riverlands will be a better place for such creature.”

“It’s getting colder,” his daughter peeped in. “If the wolf is from the North, it definitely will run away to the warm sea.”

“Who knows,” Owen shrugged again and went to the kitchen.

He had so many things to do, his horse needed new horseshoes, the barn needed soma repair, and he still had to discuss with the milkman what they will do about the broken cart - of course, he didn’t have time to think about this strange giant wolf anymore.

  
  


***

  
  


Sandor yawned. It was still quite dark outside, but he had to wake up earlier than usual to be able to get at least some sort of training. With the whole bunch of new duties, he didn’t have any time for proper training, and the option to join the others wasn’t his first choice as well. There definitely will be too much attention, and everyone will start to losing to him just because he was the King. And there was no chance at all Sandor would accept this sort of a mummery. At some point, he decided that he can live without training at all, but after the fortnight his body started to protest. Sandor was a soldier, he spent years on regular trainings on his own or with other warriors, and now he was spending most of his days just sitting in the chair or on the bloody Throne, and one day Sandor woke up feeling terrible pain in his hands and back.

As soon as the pain moved to his legs, Sandor decided there was no way he could continue to live like this, so the next morning he woke up pretty early. He dressed and sneaked out of his chambers quickly enough to not cause any panic. He knew that no one will come to look for him as per his request (except for Stannis, but Stannis was a man who wouldn’t make a great fuss after finding his rooms empty), and he had at least an hour before the first men will start to appear in the training yard.

After the first minutes of simple exercises he learned as a lad his body decided to give up. Sandor had a feeling that somehow everything inside him had turned into an iron (could he be considered an ironborn now?), but the only thing he had to do was to clench his teeth and proceed with his movements. It kind of worked, Sandor was still l feeling uncomfortable pressure in his joins, but at least his legs and hands were listening to him again. He was making quite good progress for a person who was just sitting on his ass for weeks, doing nothing.

When the skyline started to change its colour to the scarlet one, Sandor decided it was time for him to retreat. He wiped out some drops of sweat from his forehead and stretched his hands. He needed to make a habit from this little training, and after Sandor had finally felt a wave of relief and calmness overtaking him, he gave himself a word that tomorrow he will come to the training yard again.

After all, nobody needed the King who wouldn't be able to protect his people at the time of a danger.

"Your Grace!"

Sandor sighed and cursed soundlessly before turning around to face a cheerful son of Ned Stark. His wolf noticed Sandor as well and barked as if greeting him. This beast was more dangerous than his sweet little sister, but he went to liking Sandor straight away after their first meeting.

Robb Stark was wearing a light tunic and has a sword in his hand, most probably the idea of an early training came not only to Sandor. For the last two weeks, this lad was quite often present at the Court with his father, but Sandor didn’t have a chance to examine him closely. Well, he looked like a proper Tully, his hair dark auburn, his eyes blue - but still not blue enough to match the ones of Sansa. His posture was more northern than his sister had, and Robb was lacking some sort of wisdom in his eyes. But he had his strength - and at this point of life, it was enough. One day he will become the next Warden of the North, Sandor thought, but by this time he will learn much more about the world around him to make a proper Lord.

Unless he will continue to spend so much time around little Baratheon prick.

Sandor tried hard to suppress his snort and kind of succeeded in it, making a sound someone could take as a cold. He knew very well that Lord Stark had sent his eldest son to Storm’s End to learn to be a ward of his best friend. This type of learning was very common among the whole Westeros, at some point Sandor was even scared that his father could do the same and send him off to some buggering old fool, but fortunately he was spared of this destiny. But Robb Stark became a ward of Robert Baratheon, and this position also included a daily interaction with the Baratheon heir. And Joffrey wasn’t a person who could have a good influence on someone - maybe, just maybe that was the reason young Stark looked less wise than his younger sister.

Sandor shrugged to his thoughts. Maybe he was the King, but he didn’t have any right to nose in the concerns of the family he didn’t have any connection with.

“It’s such a nice morning,” Robb Stark was full of a sincere politeness, probably everyone in this family had learnt at mother’s knees how to act as a proper lord or lady. “Are you looking for some sparring, Your Grace?”

“Not really,” Sandor grumbled.

He was almost head and a half taller than his lad (Sandor wasn’t sure, but judging from his memories even Sansa was taller than her brother), and he was bigger too, and he was older and fought at an actual war, so there was a handful of tactical tricks he could use on this poor lad and knock him down in a second. And it definitely won’t be fair.

Robb Stark sighed.

“Guess I’ll have to train on my own,” he mumbled as if he was _really _disappointed with missing a chance for a sparring with the King.

Well, there was no one around, except of the direwolf who was already rolling on the ground and scratching its back with some rocks. And Sandor was missing a good training fight with an actual person, so probably it would be a pity to walk past this opportunity.

“Alright, lad,” he said, looking around. “Get your sword and be ready for a fight.”

“A fair and proper fight?” Robb Stark asked.

“Aye, hopefully, you won’t be giving in just because I am the bloody King.”

“Of course I won’t!”

Sandor nodded.

“Good. Now let me to get a wooden sword and we can start.”

Robb wanted to protest, but Sandor ended his attempts with just a stare. He didn’t need any issues dealing with angry Ned Stark upon his son’s stupid injuries - and that what would happen in case they will start a _ proper _fighting with their swords.

And if Robb Stark will be injured, his sister won’t be happy at all. And Sandor didn’t want Sansa to be angry at him. Or to be disappointed in him - probably, this was frightening Sandor even more than a mere anger.

When he was back, Robb was stretching his hands and humming a joyous tune under his breath. Sandor fiddled with his new weapon, and his opponent grinned.

“So,” he said proudly. “A fight?”

“A fight,” Sandor nodded and made his first move without any warning, knocking Robb Stark on his ass with a simple move.

“That’s not fair,” he pouted after he was back on his feet, dusting off his clothes.

“The war is never fair,” Sandor shrugged. “Do you want to try again?”

Robb nodded.

“Then I won’t be making any moves,” Sandor promised and pretended he was attaching his sword to the belt. His trick worked very well, and as soon Stark lad thought it was his turn to make a move, Sandor swiftly took the wooden toy out and knocked him down again.

Robb Stark growled in disappointment.

“I guess you didn’t learn your lesson very well,” Sandor snorted. “Remember, the enemy can attack you _ any _ time - they won’t care if you are ready or not, if you had your lunch already or it will be better for them to not start their attack before you’ll be done - gods, someone can even attack you when you’re sitting on your privy.”

“It would be too despicably,” Robb frowned.

“Nothing is despicably when you are at war,” Sandor laughed, feeling himself and old and grey man teaching his great-grandchildren the wisdoms of this life. “Well, some things are not acceptable, of course, no one will call you a hero after you will try to rape someone, but when it is about you and your enemies than you need to be ready for everything.”

“I don’t think it matters now,” Robb shrugged. “There’s no war anyway, and we were discussing with Joffrey that the situation in our army is…”

“As if that little prick knows anything about the actual war,” Sandor snorted.

“Joffrey is knowledgeable,” Robb retorted. “He reads a lot, and when he was younger he spent almost all his time with his grandfather - of course, he learnt almost everything about the war and army, even if he cannot fight himself very well.”

“What, his hands are too fragile for a sword?”

“_ Your Grace_,” Robb Stark’s tone lowered. “Please, don’t disrespect my friend.”

“I’m not _disrespecting _your friend,” Sandor shrugged. “But just think of it, will you be able to sleep well if you will know that your sister’s husband cannot protect her at all?”

“So does it mean Sansa needs to wed someone skilled in fighting, but dumb as a rock? I don’t think she will be happy enough for that type of marriage. Besides, she had always dreamed to be wed to someone highborn and beautiful, and I think our father made a perfect choice.”

“You think so?” Sandor crossed his hands on his chest, eyeing Robb warily.

The lad looked like the time spent at Baratheon’s keep had affected his views on the world. Well, Sandor had an idea before that Joffrey was quite good in manipulating people who were even older than him (at the very least, his own somewhat of a father didn’t know his true self), and Robb Stark just felt under that blonde prick’s spell. If it wasn’t about Sansa, Sandor would just shrug and proceed to his other things, giving the space for lordlings to deal with their rubbish on their own.

But there was Sansa involved, and most importantly - her future and her destiny. Sandor wasn’t able to change her father’s mind, and now he found out that her brother couldn’t be his ally too - from the good side, at least he was able to kick his ass twice today.

Sandor snorted and moved forward, moving his hands almost invisibly - and in a second Robb Stark was lying on the ground again.

“I told you the war isn’t fair,” he answered to the low growl. “But I need to remind you that the whole life isn’t fair. Especially if you think your sister will be happy in this marriage.”

“With all respect, I don’t think you know my sister,” Robb blurted after getting back on his feet.

To be honest, somewhere inside Sandor kind of wished he never knew his poor sister. But Sansa Stark was his friend now, and he already promised her that he won’t allow any harm to affect her.

“Listen,” he sighed. “I believe you are a good young lord and a proper son, so now it’s your turn to act as a perfect brother too.”

“I’m acting,” Robb Stark shrugged. “I’m always going with Sansa on her walks with Joffrey - you know, just to make everything look more appropriate, even if they could have a good time without me.”

“Good for you,” Sandor nodded. “Keep following them. I hope your wolves are there too?”

“Both of them,” Robb answered and rubbed his back - probably his third fall was the worst one.

Sandor nodded again.

“But I don’t think you need to worry about it, Your Grace,” the lad started these talks again. “I’m sure Sansa is safe in the company of Joffrey Baratheon - after all, they are almost betrothed already and there will be a wedding soon, too. At least that what my father and Lord Robert were discussing recently.”

“Isn’t it too early for Sa… for your lady sister?” Sandor asked.

“I don’t know,” Robb shrugged again. “Well, most probably the wedding will be just a formality, no one will expect them to have children nine turns of the moon after the feast, but there’s an agreement between our families - and I don’t think something or someone will be able to break it.”

“I see,” Sandor sighed. “Well, then I will leave you for the rest of your training,” he handed the wooden sword to Robb. “Use it carefully, I don’t think it will be good if you won’t be able to act as a chaperone for your sister.”

“Don’t worry, Your Grace,” Stark beamed. “My sister is completely safe here - and all of us will make sure there won’t be any harm coming at her.”

“Hope so,” Sandor mumbled quietly.

“I beg your pardon?”

Sandor shook his head.

“Nothing important,” he answered, turning away from Robb. “And lad, remember what I have told you today.”

“About Joffrey?” there was a mistrust in Robb Stark’s voice.

“About him too, but I was talking about the fairness of the war,” Sandor sighed. “Remember all these things, because you never know when you will have to use them the next time.”

“But there’s no war at all.”

“I’d say,” Sandor took a deep breath. “I’d say there’s no war at all _for now_. Well, have a good day, Stark.”

When Sandor was leaving the training yard, he heard some muffled mumbling of Robb, followed by short but confident barks of his direwolf. The only thing Sandor hoped now was that the boy wasn’t as dumb as he was acting - otherwise, it will do all of them a huge disservice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> <s>still no sansan... ugh...</s>


	15. In which Stannis Starts to Understand Things

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What can be better on this cold winter day than a small chapter full of Stannis? ☕

Eddard Stark was angry. No, Ned Stark was furious. Well, in a way the Warden of the North could be, of course.

“It took me a while to convince Martells for this betrothal,” he almost hissed while shooting daggers at Sandor. “It had a huge political meaning, and it definitely would help us to solve the issue with Aegon, so why in the Seven Hells you just said to her you don’t want this betrothal?”

“Because I don’t want this betrothal,” Sandor shrugged. “And neither does she.”

“But you are the _King_,” Eddard hissed again. “And a grown-up man, you had to learn by that time that political marriages are something that is the bedrock of perfect political alliances. You are not the second son of a smaller Lord, you are the King - and your marriage will define the future of the realm, why can’t you understand?”

“Maybe he just has someone on his mind to marry,” Stannis decided to finally say a word. He was getting tired of Eddard’s fussings over the matter. “Right, Sandor?”

“Not in the Seven Hells,” grumbled Sandor in response. 

“Then _why _did you and Daenerys decided to be so stubborn and throw the perfect opportunity off the cliff?”

Sandor sighed and rolled his eyes.

“Because no one of us wanted it, that’s all.”

Eddard opened his mouth as if trying to say something, but then just waved his hand, snapping his teeth too loud for a man.

“Whatever,” he groaned. “But please remember, Your Grace, all your actions will lead to the only outcome one day. It could be a happy reign of yours, with strong allies and the good Queen by your side, or it could be the years of wars, massacres, and tears. And I’m not sure if _that _is what smallfolk wanted when they were putting your father on the Throne.”

“Lord Stark,” Sandor narrowed his eyes. “Why the hells your world is always divided only into black and white?”

“Pardon me?”

Stannis locked fingers in front of him and sat back - for now, he decided to become just a mute spectator of the developing confrontation.

“You’re trying to scare me giving only _two _options of the events which could happen based on my decision regarding this betrothal,” Sandor started to explain as it was a silly greenboy standing in front of him, not the Warden of the North. “But our world cannot be divided only into black or white, and I thought that you’ve already learned this simple truth.”

“The world isn’t black and white, but we need to be prepared for the worst,” Eddard shrugged.

“So that’s why you are marrying your daughter to the Baratheon boy?”

Eddard’s cheekbones reddened as if he was getting _really _angry.

“Whom I am choosing as a betrothed for my daughter is solemnly _my _decision, _Your Grace, _” now his eyes narrowed too, Stannis even noticed that Eddard had clenched his fists. “And I’d be _very _grateful if you won’t be jumping into our family matters. You may be the King, but what happens among Starks is not to be discussed by someone else at all.”

“And you were calling _me _stubborn,” Sandor made a short barking laugh. “Look. I respect your choices and everything, but have you ever considered that the rumours about Joffrey weren’t born out of nowhere?”

“Any proofs from your side?” Eddard cocked an eyebrow.

“I can just share my observations with you,” Sandor made a somehow helpless gesture with his hands. “But trust me, as a crown prince I spent a boatload of time in the company of Joffrey - this boy had the best teachers who told him how to trick everyone around. His mind is more complex and wise, that’s true, but at the same time it’s thousands times viler than you can imagine.”

“I’d ask you not to say such things about my friend’s son.”

Sandor eyed him from head to foot, as if trying to find out something which could help him to understand northern Lord better. Sandor had this habit even before he became the crown prince, Stannis remembered. Always mistrustful of the others, always trying to predict the attitude towards him before getting to know the other person. He was acting the same even towards Stannis at the beginning, and, to be honest, it took a lot of time and efforts before Sandor stopped eyeing him with the suspicious stare.

Well, after he grew up he stopped eyeing people like this in general, but sometimes his old habits were coming out again. Especially when he was angry at someone - like he was angry at Eddard Stark now.

Stannis sighed. He liked Lord Stark, he was a trustful ally and always was up to help them with any difficulties, but it was his stupid pride which was always making some things worse than they could happen. And his honour, too big even for a fit man like Eddard Stark. Well, there was nothing wrong to be honourable, Stannis kind of considered himself honourable too, but sometimes it was brimming over all possible bounds.

“Lord Stark,” Sandor’s _too _calm voice dragged Stannis from his thoughts. “I know that he is your _best friend’s _son, and this single fact is usually enough to plan betrothals between your children, aye. But let me remind you that Joffrey Baratheon is not only a son of Lord Robert, but also a grandson of Lord Tywin Lannister.”

“And you suspect that Lord Tywin, who was unhappy with the fact his daughter didn’t become the Queen, had affected his grandson to the point he could harm the others around him?”

“Exactly,” Sandor raised his index finger. “Well, maybe it’s all about not the physical aspect of harm, but who knows what is inside Joffrey’s head.”

Eddard Stark sighed.

"I don't want to argue with you, _Your Grace, _but I still think you are overreacting. I do not mention that you're trying to keep my attention away from the issue with _your _betrothal."

"There's no issue with my betrothal at all," Sandor shrugged. "I don't want to marry Daenerys Targaryen, and Daenerys Targaryen doesn't want to wed me as well - so, no issue here. And by the time we came to the subject of the miracle with her nephew, she was happy enough to side with the Crown in front of any problems. And Martells are going to support any decision of their beloved adopted daughter."

Stannis loudly cleared his throat, dragging the attention of both men to himself.

"You informed Daenerys Targaryen about the fact her nephew is marching - well, sailing to the capital to take the power in his hands?" 

"Aye," Sandor nodded.

"Without any advice from your Council?" Stannis asked just to check.

Sandor nodded again, looking quite proud of himself. Next to him, Eddard Stark made a muffled groaning sound.

"Why?" that was all what Stannis was able to ask.

"Because I want to get a trustful ally in Daenerys Targaryen," Sandor crossed his hands on his chest. "I talked to her, got to know her a little bit, and only then decided that it was better to share the secret straight away - after all, you can't get anyone to trust you whole hiding some important secrets."

"And what if she will decide to join her forces with Aegon and the Golden Company?" Eddard asked.

"Don't think she will," Sandor snorted. "She's a girl with her head full of some rubbish some girls like to think about. She doesn't have any desire even to caress the Iron Throne with her fingers, and neither she wants her brother to get power to herself - and I suppose she will try to persuade her nephew to do the same."

"But Aegon is nothing like Viserys," Stannis pointed out. "She might decide he is the right person to sit on the Throne - and then the reign of Targaryens will be restored." 

"Lord Stannis," Sandor cut him off. "You know what will happen if Targaryens will come back to power, right?"

"Another _possible _smallfolk rebellion," Stannis nodded. 

"Aye. And judging from what I've learned about Daenerys Targaryen, she will do _everything _to save the remains of her family from blood and death. Well, what is possible for a fragile girl like her."

"Hopefully you are right," Stannis sighed. "Otherwise, we will have to face the dornishmen too."

"We won't," Sandor shrugged. "I'm more than sure that even if Daenerys is thinking of siding with her brother, she thinks that I'm too honourable to get a knife in my back from her and the Dorne - after all, I was the one who shared blessed news about Aegon with her, despite of them being dangerous for me."

"And you're calling Joffrey vile," Eddard made a sound which could be considered as a snort, if it wasn't for the Warden of the North.

"Don't compare me to that little prick," Sandor mumbled and turned to Stannis. "No offence to you as to his uncle, Lord Stannis." 

Stannis just nodded. Well, he wouldn't call Joffrey a _prick_, but, to be honest, he wasn't very fond of him. Yes, he was his nephew, Robert's son, and the heir to Storm's End, but it was his attitude towards almost everything which was frustrating Stannis and making him to be very careful around his nephew. After all, Stannis made some checking on his own, and he had to admit that Sandor was right when talking about Tywin Lannister's influence on the not so smart boy Joffrey was as a child. He was cruel and sky boy, but not smart at all.

Then, he spent almost a year with his mother at Casterly Rock (Myrcella and Tommen were left with their uncle Jaime at his new residence), and when Stannis met him next time he was visiting Robert, he saw a completely different person in front of him. Joffrey became calmer, he was spending hours in the library, and he wasn't touching swords or any other weapons anymore at all. He was speaking wise words, but Stannis had no idea what was meant behind them, as Joffrey's stare had nothing to do with his words. It looked as if his grandfather had put him under some spell, but Stannis didn't believe in that type of nuisance. Most probably, the old Lord Tywin was still sore about not getting power and Royal status to his family that he spent a whole year making Joffrey a perfect (in his opinion, of course) person to be ready to grab some power when he could get a perfect chance for it. 

The worst thing was that Robert wasn't so observant of even his son. He was his brother, that’s right, but this fact didn’t stop Stannis from thinking that the oldest Baratheon sibling was the most stupid one. And because of Robert’s indifference to some _very _important things, his heir became a person who at some point could possess threat even to his father.

Stannis sighed. He moved his attention to Sandor and Eddard once again, but now their argument started to turn around the subject of betrothals _once again_.

Stannis decided he had enough.

“I’m leaving this meeting early,” he announced at the same time when Lord Eddard accused King Sandor of paying too much attention to the future of his daughter, who wasn’t relevant to the Royal matters at all. And, according to Eddard Stark, all attention of the newly crowned King had to be aimed only to the things which were important for the Crown. And of course, to his betrothal.

Well. Even if it was just an accusation said in the heat of an argument, it still was a _very interesting _accusation. To think that Sandor was paying too much attention to someone who wasn’t his horse or his advisors was something Stannis wasn’t expecting from him at all. Sandor was well-known in the whole Keep for his nature of a loner, who wasn’t focused on any type of relationships between people - except for the ones which he _had _to think of due to his new duties. Well, in the last couple of years his attitude towards some people around him had improved a little bit, but still, Sandor preferred to ride on his own, to have his dinner on his own (however, he was joining his father from time to time), to spend time on his own - not the best traits of a person who was next in line for the Throne, but human nature was something only the Seven could change.

Stannis quickly brushed by two arguing men, who didn’t even notice his words, and walked out of the solar. As his place at the Tower of the Hand was occupied, he decided to have a short stroll around the Keep. Sometimes it was helping him to refresh his mind and come up with new ideas, so the proper breath of a fresh air wouldn’t hurt him at all.

His thoughts went back to Sandor. Luckily enough, he made huge improvements regarding his character during the past years. When Lord Kastor started to have his seasonal coughs which were making him bedridden for weeks, Stannis started to worry. He was worrying about the future of the realm, of course, but the health of his friend was a big concern for him too. And it was Kastor who asked him to take care of Sandor and his future. The heir of the Throne at that time was still a grumpy loner with no desire for the Throne or even for a simple socialisation with the others, and it took Stannis months before Sandor at least started to show any interest in the politics and his future role, even though he was cursing the Throne and the crown every time he was able to.

And then all this betrothal issue - it was Kastor’s request to him to find the proper lady who could make a perfect Queen and who could love his son not only for his title. That was a difficult task, as it wasn’t s huge secret for him that Sandor despised almost all highborn ladies around, who were trying to seduce the crown prince for his title, making the nasty comments about his face behind his back. Luckily, Sandor was smart enough not to fall into their trap, and after some days of thoughts, Stannis announced to the King that he won’t be dealing with Sandor’s betrothal at all.

From his point, it would be much better to wait, even if it would take some years, but Sandor had to choose his future wife himself. Then this marriage will work, he explained to Kastor, the woman Sandor will choose will be the one who won’t fall for him only because of his claim, as by that time the crown prince was able to foretell the real intentions of any lady in a second. Only then, Stannis pointed out, the bond between the future King and Queen will be strong enough to weather the storm, and the relationships of Royal family had always affected not only their family, but also the whole realm.

It didn’t work. Stannis focused on more important issues, yes, but then one day Lord Eddard Stark announced he was working towards the betrothal between House Clegane and House Targaryen. It sounded like the worst jape ever, even Joffrey’s aggressive jokes were funnier and more interesting to hear.

Luckily for Stannis and the future of the realm, Eddard’s plan didn’t work at all. Well, it looked like poor Warden of the North wasn’t good in arranging betrothals at all. The one between Sandor and Daenerys Targaryen died even before any kind of announcement, and the one between his daughter and Joffrey Baratheon threatened to turn into something dangerous. Stannis had seen the daughter of Eddard, a delicate but strong young woman whose eyes were full of thoughts and unsaid words. Maybe if she was raised in a bit different way, she could voice all her doubts, fears, and desires - but Sansa Stark was too proper and too polite, the same as her father was too honourable. She was spending hours walking on her own or sitting in the library, just like Shireen, and somehow that made Stannis to pay a bit more attention to her.

Sansa Stark could also be considered a loner. Well, she was easy-going and could quickly blend into any group of people, but being on her own was making her more _alive_. She was humming something to herself, she was talking to her direwolf while thinking nobody is around, sometimes she could suddenly stop reading her book and stare in front of her, a smile full of _secrets _on her lip.

She _definitely _could make a match to someone better than Joffrey, maybe even to someone who would fall in love with her, cherish her, and pay attention to her, but Robert and Eddard were too stubborn with their friendship and _stupid honour _that somehow Stannis started to worry about not only Sandor, who was under his protections for years now, but also about poor Sansa Stark.

Stannis stopped in the middle of the corridor, scaring the crap out of a chambermaid who was walking by with freshly washed clothes in her hands. Stannis murmured some apologies, turned on his heels and very quickly headed to the direction of the library.

As he expected, Lady Sansa was there, sitting in a huge chair, her direwolf curled into a ball next to her legs.

Stannis mended his clothes and cleared his throat.

“Lady Sansa.”

She tilted her head and closed her book, jumping out of the chair and making a curtsey.

“My Lord,” she said in a polite but a bit surprised tone. “I didn’t expect anyone to come here at this time.”

“I was just walking by and saw that the door wasn’t closed properly,” Stannis lied with a straight face. “Then I saw you here and decided to come in and congratulate you with your _almost announced _betrothal.”

“Thank you, My Lord,” Sansa Stark bowed her head politely. She did everything too politely and properly, even the way she put her book aside looked _very _proper.

Stannis eyed her face, trying to find something which looked like a fear or sadness.

“I hope you are happy with the choice your father made for you.”

“Of course, My Lord,” she answered and bit her lip.

From Stannis’ perspective, it _definitely _looked like she was lying.

“Did your father asked for your opinion on that matter?” he decided to find out, knowing that the answer will be a negative one.

Sansa shook her head.

“My father made a proper choice for me, and, as his eldest daughter, I have to obey.”

“If Daenerys Targaryen was able to disobey the match which was made by people who raised her as their daughter, then, I suppose, you could express your concerns about the matter too.”

“She disobeyed it?” Sansa Stark asked with widened eyes.

Stannis nodded.

“Yes. So did the King. Unfortunately, no Royal wedding for us this year.”

“I’m very sorry to hear that,” Sansa answered, but judging by her eyes she was everything but sorry. 

She looked as if she was happy to hear that the betrothal between the King and another highborn lady didn’t work out. And there was that smile in the corner of her lips again, a sweet smile full of secrets.

If Stannis wasn’t able to take hold on himself he would snort at this discovery. A very stupid blurred thought that made him stop in the corridor was finally getting some shape.

“Tell me, Lady Sansa,” he _almost _smiled. “Would you be sorry if your father would call off your betrothal as well?”

“I,” she bit her lip again and her eyes started to shift to the sides, as if she wasn’t sure in what to answer. “I would be sorry to hear that too, My Lord.”

“Even if someone else could offer you a better match than the heir of Storm’s End?”

“It’s not about the title,” Sansa Stark _dared _to cut him off, but at this moment Stannis didn’t mind it at all. “It’s about the person and what is inside, My Lord.”

“So no titles for you?”

Sansa shook her head.

“It’s very refreshing to know,” Stannis nodded, trying very hard to suppress a smile. “You see, unfortunately not everyone is looking towards their wedding day because of their feelings.”

“I know about it very well, My Lord,” Sansa Stark answered being very proud of herself. “And I wish to marry a person whom I will love with all my heart, and who will be loving me in return.”

_Interesting_.

“And my nephew is the right person for you, Lady Sansa?” 

“He is, My Lord.”

She bit her lip again. Well, it was everything Stannis had to know. Almost.

“I wish your betrothal will bring you only joy, Lady Sansa,” he bowed his head. “And your marriage to bring you happiness.”

“I wish so too, My Lord.”

Stannis nodded and quietly left the library, leaving Sansa Stark with her books and her direwolf. The lazy pet didn’t even pay attention to him, which Stannis decided to take as a good sign.

After all, the thought it his head had finally blossomed.

Sansa Stark would make the perfect Queen for this poor realm.

  
And thinking of how Sandor was trying to protect her and her future from Sansa’s father - well, maybe there was a chance she _will _make the perfect Queen one day. They just had to wait a little bit. 


	16. In which Sansa Founds an Answer in a Dream, and Sandor is Ready for (an Ill Considered) Action

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's the end of the term now (I'm working in the Uni), so I'm a bit dead... I'm sorry if it looks stupid or smth D:

She was wandering in the dark hall, running along closed doors. There were _too many _of those doors, none of them smelled right. It was middle of the night, everyone except of armed men outside the Keep probably was already asleep, but she still wanted to check if she will be able to find the door where the Man lived. 

After some more turns, she finally found it - there was a little streak of light underneath, and she scratched the door with her paw, whining quietly. Then there was a sound of heavy steps and suddenly the wooden door was open, the Man looking at her from his height.

“Little wolf?” he asked, knowing she wasn’t little _at all_. “Are you alright? Is everything fine with Sansa?”

She wanted to make a reassuring bark, but it was too late and too dark, and she knew that people didn’t like to listen to her barks when it was that late. So she decided to yap approvingly, the so the Man won’t think something bad happened. She yapped and wagged her tail, and when the Man reached out his hand to give her a scratch she happily nuzzled his palm with her cold nose. His hand was huge, warm, and smelled so…

She flinched and jumped back, whining, she didn’t like that smell at all, it was nothing to do with the Man - his hands always had a nice scent of wood or iron, but now they were as bad as the hands of the Boy she didn’t like.

“Oh, sorry,” the Man said, hiding his hand behind his back. “I kind of forgot the wolves and dogs aren’t that much different, of course, you didn’t like the smell. Anyway, do you want to come in?”

There was an apology in his voice, and he sounded very sincere - so she just wagged her tail and went at a quick pace inside of his room, and then the wooden door closed behind her.

Sansa made a deep, ragged breath and woke up, almost jumping out of her bed. Her heart was racing as if she was running for a while, and the only thought which was now beaming in her mind was that she had to go and see Sandor straight away. She knew that if she will be caught like this, sneaking to the King’s bedroom just in her nightgown and shawl in the middle of the night, it will be a huge scandal, but at this particular moment, Sansa didn’t care about any propriety at all.

She had never been in the royal quarters before, but she found Sandor’s door quite easy, thanks to her dream. Well, the dream itself was something Sansa wanted to worry about, after all, she saw what was happening in the castle at the same time she was lying asleep in her featherbed, and she was seeing things through her _direwolf’s _eyes. Sansa heard about wargs, for sure, but it was a fairytale to scare little children, a part of the dark folklore of the North - and somehow she ended up seeing things with Lady’s eyes, feeling the cold stone with her soft paws, and smelling so many odours with her nose.

Including the one which made Lady flinch and think of Joffrey.

And Joffrey was her main concern now, the weird dream and its consequences could wait for later. Sansa sighed and stopped in front of the King’s bedchamber. There still was a little streak of light underneath, just like in her dream - Sansa closed her eyes, trying to stop the trembling of her hands, and quietly knocked on the wooden door.

There was no answer at first, but then Sansa heard the sound of heavy steps and in an eye blink the door was open and Sandor was standing in front of her, wearing the same tunic and breeches like the ones her direwolf - no, _ she _saw earlier.

“Sansa?” his voice was hoarse and sounded quite surprised. “Is everything alright?”

Sansa quickly nodded, casting a quick look to his chambers - Lady was lying next to the fireplace, curled into a huge furball and snoring lightly in her sleep.

“Can I talk to you, please?” Sansa whispered after shifting her gaze back on Sandor.

He eyed her from head to toe with a worried expression (suddenly Sansa remembered she was wearing just her nightgown and shawl and felt her cheeks started to heat up) and made a step back, allowing her to come in.

When the door was closed, Sandor was by her side almost instantly, the worrying expression still present.

“What’s wrong, Sansa?” he asked, his voice the mixture of seriousness and some sort of… fear? “First your direwolf came to my chambers, I thought something happened to you and she is here to alert me - but she just freaked out from the smell of an orange and then went to sleep next to the fireplace as if nothing happened. And now you are here too, in the middle of the night, wearing just your nightgown.”

“I have a shawl on too,” Sansa added in a weak voice.

“Still,” Sandor sighed. “What would your father say on your behaviour, Lady Sansa?”

“I don’t care what he would say,” she cut the King off, biting her lower lip. “Sandor, there is something I need to tell you now.”

Sandor nodded and offered her a chair.

“If you completely forgot about your proprieties, then it’s an urgent matter indeed,” he sighed, seating himself on the edge of his bed.

He was so close now, his knee almost touching Sansa’s one, and under the weak glow of a candle on his table she was able to take a proper look at him, the first proper and close look in weeks.

Sandor looked tired. There were new wrinkles between his eyebrows and near his lips, and there was a fullness under his eyes, and some of his scars started to ooze. Sandor Clegane was so tired in his new position of the King, and Sansa felt a bit of a shame she decided to visit him in the middle of the night and drag him out of his rest.

But she had to tell her story to someone, and Sandor was the only person in the Keep she could trust. And he was sitting in front of her, his eyes tired but full of worry for her, and he was ready to listen to anything she would say - so Sansa took a deep breath and started.

“I had a dream today,” she said, hoping she doesn’t sound like a small child. “You know, it might be a very strange story to hear, but I was sleeping in my bed - and at the same time, I was awake. Running down the dark corridors of the Keep until I finally found the wooden door which lead to your chamber.”

“And?” Sandor frowned.

“I mean,” Sansa sighed. “I was sleeping - and at the same time awake. But not as Sansa Stark - as my direwolf.”

Sandor narrowed his eyes and cast a quick look behind Sansa’s shoulder, where Lady was sleeping peacefully.

“You mean - you dreamed you were your direwolf?” he asked, trying to get the meaning of his own words.

“Not really,” Sansa shook her head. “I _ was _my direwolf.”

“And how is it possible?”

“I don’t know,” she sighed again. “Well, actually there is an explanation, there is a story in the North about the people who were able to warg into animals - including direwolves. I always thought it was just a mere tale for little children, but apparently,” she sighed again, averting her gaze. “It looks like I can do this thing too.”

“It doesn’t sound very realistic, but let us assume you are telling the truth,” Sandor nodded, scratching his chin from the good side. “So, what had happened next?”

“Then I - or Lady, - tried to open your door. With a paw,” Sansa giggled nervously. “And then the door was open and you were standing in front of me, wearing the same clothes you have on. And you said I was a little wolf - which Lady _ definitely _isn’t.”

“Aye, I said that,” Sandor’s gaze had become an intense one. “And then I reached out my hand.”

“And Lady tried to nuzzle it as she usually does.”

“And then she freaked out because of the smell,” Sandor nodded. “Well, to be honest, I was quite surprised to learn that the direwolves have similar habits to the dogs - or at least share the common rejection of the smell of the orange.”

“They do,” Sansa replied in a quiet voice. “The smell of the orange. Or the lemon. Or anything similar. That’s why she was trying to stay away from Joffrey all the time.”

“I beg your pardon?”

Sansa closed her eyes. She knew she had to tell everything to Sandor right now, but her hands started to shake again - and she stayed quiet and with her eyes squeezed until she felt a huge warm palm covering her hands.

“Sansa?” Sandor asked in a very low voice, making her open her eyes and stare at him. “Is everything alright?”

She nodded, trying to suppress the trembling in her whole body.

“Every time I went out with Joffrey he was wearing the same perfume,” Sansa said. “The one which smelled with oranges and lemons. I liked it, well, I truly like this smell, but Lady was ignoring him, I was wondering why she did it - and now I have the answer.”

“Do you think Joffrey is so scared of your direwolf he did it on purpose?”

“Yes,” Sansa nodded again, feeling that Sandor started to caress her hand with his thumb as if trying to calm her down. “He did it on purpose, otherwise Lady would recognise his smell and lash out at him.”

“And why would she do so?”

“Because Joffrey tried to attack me,” Sansa whispered almost silently. Sandor didn’t answer anything, but his grip on her hands tightened straight away.

“When this little shit had his chance to do so?” he groaned quietly.

“On the first night after our arrival. I was going to the kitchens in the middle of the night, and he...” Sansa stopped and took a deep breath. “He attacked me, thinking I am a kitchen wench and trying to… Well, to rape me, I guess.”

Sandor squeezed her hand almost painfully.

“He’s a dead man, I swear,” he hissed in a low voice. “Hells, Sansa, why didn’t you tell me about it before? Did he hurt you?”

“He didn’t manage to,” Sansa shook her head. “Well, luckily I have too many brothers who were able to teach me how to defend myself if a man is trying to get handsy. And Lady came to rescue me as well.”

“That’s good, aye, but still - why didn’t you tell me about it? Or your father? Or anyone else?”

“Because I wasn’t sure who was that man,” Sansa said in a small voice. “I mean, I had only two evidences to check - and both of them didn’t work well.”

“And one of them was Lady, right?”

“Exactly,” Sansa nodded. “She would know if Joffrey was the person who attacked me - but he prepared well enough, pouring his perfume all over his clothes and hands.”

“And the other evidence?”

“I manage to bite my attacker,” Sansa replied, a small trace of pride in her voice. “But the next time I met Joffrey he had a bandage on his hand. Robb said it was his fault Joffrey was hurt - but now _ I am sure _it wasn’t an accident. Joffrey allowed my brother to hurt him on purpose.”

“Of course he did,” Sandor shrugged. “Joffrey Baratheon would never engage himself into a physical fight, even the fake or training one.”

“I’m scared,” Sansa suddenly whispered, cringing with some sort of stupid fear.

“And you weren’t scared of him before?” Sandor narrowed his eyebrows.

“I wasn’t,” Sansa said, her voice shaking. “Before I didn’t know exactly who my attacker was, and Joffrey made me believe he wasn’t that bad, with all his courtesies and attention. But now I was able to get a clear picture of what had happened that night - and _ I am scared_, Sandor.”

Her body suddenly became completely weak, and she was able to feel the tears starting to gather in the corners of her eyes - and blinked, to get them away. She didn’t want to cry in front of Sandor, she needed to be strong, to have her mind clear - but her body was betraying her.

“Sansa,” Sandor said. “Calm down, Sansa, please. Remember, I told you I won’t hurt you - and I won’t let anyone do the same to you. You have my word, right?”

“But what you could do?” Sansa whispered, fighting the urge to cry with all strength which was left in her body. 

“Tomorrow we will go to your father and you will tell him of everything you know about Joffrey,” Sandor said, his voice sounding confident. “And I will be there to confirm all your words. Besides, your father is a northerner - so he definitely will believe the story of your weird dream.”

“But what if it won’t work?” Sansa clenched her small fists. “What if nobody else will believe me? Lord Robert will decide me and my father betrayed his trust and dumped him with this betrothal at the very last moment.”

“The Hells with _ Lord Robert_,” Sandor groaned. “If he is so stupid enough to believe his heir is as innocent as a lamb then it’s his fault. And I don’t think your father will lose something if his friendship with buggering Baratheon will crack.”

“But what if my father won’t believe me?” the fear in her voice was palpable now. “What if he will think I made everything up just to escape this betrothal?”

“Then he will be the biggest fool in the whole Westeros,” Sandor sighed. “Sansa, listen to me. I will be by your side - you know, you have the protection of the King, so you _ definitely _don’t need to worry about anything, right?”

“Right,” Sansa answered weakly.

“And I am sure Lord Stannis will be on our side too,” Sandor reached his another hand forward to stroke her hair in a soothing manner. “We will find the solution to free you from Joffrey, alright?”

“Alright,” Sansa peeped.

“And now you need to get at least some sleep,” Sandor sighed, eyeing her with a worrying gaze. “Gods, Sansa, I need to admit you have some guts to sneak around the castle wearing just your nightgown.”

“And a shawl”, Sansa argued in a small voice, which made Sandor laugh nervously.

“You know,” he pointed at his table. “I still have loads of letters to go through before I can go to bed. So if you want, you can stay here.”

“Pardon me?” Sansa felt her cheeks turning red.

“I mean, just have a nap here,” Sandor mumbled, averting his gaze. “I don’t want you to wander around the castle wearing your nightgown _and a shawl, _ especially when you are within an inch of crying. And your direwolf is sleeping here anyway, so you don’t need to worry.”

“Right,” Sansa nodded, her cheeks still flushed. “Can I lie down on your bed? Just on the edge, I promise.”

“This bed is too huge even for a man like me,” Sandor snorted. “You could freely take a half for yourself - and I am sure I won’t notice you there even if I will fall asleep before waking you up.”

“Right,” Sansa answered in a very shy voice.

She stood up from her chair, letting Sandor to release her hand, and walked awkwardly to the huge featherbed. She decided to keep her word and climbed on the very edge of it, lying down on the furs and linen, as if emphasising she was lying here just for a while, before she will be woken up by Sandor and proceeding into her chambers.

“Sandor?”

The King, who was already back to his work, tilted his head and looked at Sansa with an unreadable expression.

“Yes?”

“Thank you,” Sansa whispered, hoping her tears won’t come back right now.

“You’re always welcome, pretty bird.”

It wasn’t like he used to call her a caged bird in a mocking way when they were travelling to the capital, it sounded so warm and sincere that Sansa giggled. The fear which was curling into a ball in her chest finally started to fade away.

“Good night,” she said, making herself comfortable on the tiny part of the bed she took to herself and closing her eyes.

And then she was sleeping again, her dreams empty from anything.

* * *

Sandor woke up because of an odd feeling surrounding him. It was warm and even a little bit hot, but at the same time, he was able to feel strange coldness and wetness near his chest. He opened his eyes and tried to understand what was happening - until he realised he wasn’t alone in his bed.

_ Oh. _

Sansa, who fell asleep on the other side of his monstrously huge bed some hours ago, was now lying next to him, curled into a ball - just like her direwolf. She was lying next to him, squeezing herself into his body, her left hand latching onto his tunic. And it was his tunic which made Sandor to feel the unusual coldness and wetness, as it was soaking wet from Sansa’s tears.

Sansa Stark was lying next to him and crying in her sleep.

Or, she cried some time ago - now she was deep in her sleep, looking almost peacefully, but her hand was still latching onto his tunic. Sandor’s eyes got a little more used to the darkness of the bedroom, and he was even able to see the traces of the tears on her cheeks.

Sansa Stark was fighting her tears last night when she revealed himself not so pleasant story about her betrothed. She almost cried when he offered her to stay - but in the end, she managed to calm herself down and be strong. But when she was sleeping, her real feelings were able to find their way out - and she was crying.

Sandor sighed, feeling something like a compassion to this poor girl - and then he belatedly realised he was embracing Sansa with his hand, not giving her any way to escape or roll away from him. He tried to put his hand away, but Sansa started to toss in her sleep, a small wrinkle appearing between her eyebrows, so Sandor sighed and decided to stay as he was.

When he was done with his letters, he wanted to wake Sansa up and walk her to her chambers - but she was sleeping so peacefully on her side of the bed that Sandor decided not to bother her at all. He just covered her with some furs and went to sleep, hoping that he will wake up before any early servant will decide to visit His Grace’s chambers.

And now he was lying in the dark of the night on the middle of his bed with a fair lady in his hands. A strong, maybe a little bit stubborn, and very brave lady. Sandor knew how difficult it was for Sansa to try to speak loudly against the wishes of her father - she had already shared her secrets and wishes with him before, but talking to a friend in the middle of the night and telling her father in front of the others she didn’t want to follow his orders were two completely different things. And someone needed a handful of courage to stand against something their _noble _family was looking forward to - luckily, Sansa did have this courage.

Sandor moved his hand a little bit, caressing her soft hair. Right, she will stand up to protect herself - but what if it won’t be enough to change the mind of Lord Stark? Sandor knew he wasn’t a monster who would wish his daughter to suffer from the hands of her husband, but what if the stupid honour will win over him? Or maybe he could go among with the wishes of his best friend, who wouldn’t believe his son was capable of rape. Or what if everyone else at the court, including Stannis, will decide that Sansa is just overreacting because of the stress caused by her betrothal?

Shit. Probably, Sandor was overreacting himself as well now, but he was thinking of all these scenarios which would make Sansa to marry to Baratheon prick in the end, and an unknown feeling deep inside his stomach was extending its claws, making Sandor feel miserable and weak.

Shit, he promised Sansa he will protect her - and here he was, lying in the bed next to her, caressing her hair and feeling the wetness of her tears on his tunic. He had to save her, but there was no opportunity for him to do so. Of course, he would stand by her side tomorrow, trying to prove everything she will tell about Joffrey - but will his words be enough to save her? He was the King, yes, but he remembered Lord Stark’s words that even the King didn’t have his right to stand in the way of the matters of someone else’s family.

They won’t listen to him, Sandor realised with a sorrow in his chest. They might pretend they heard Sansa’s words, but in the end she will end up married to the blond wanker called Joffrey. And then Joffrey will rape her, make her cry in pain, make her miserable and lost. Sandor gritted his teeth just from the thought of what that little shit could do to Sansa, his fist clenching in her hair.

Somehow Sansa felt it through her sleep - but instead of flinching, she moved even closer, as if trying to merge her body and soul with him. She was sleeping and didn’t have any clue how immodestly it looked from the side - Sandor remembered Sansa’s stories about her mother and snorted. Oh, Lady Stark would be scandalised if she learned that her daughter sneaked into the King’s chambers at night, wearing just a simple nightgown, and spent a whole night in his bed. Well, maybe not just the Lady Stark - poor Ned Stark would be furious, accusing Sandor of all seven sins.

_ Oh_.

Sandor opened his eyes wide.

That was it.

If Lord Stark will become scandalised about his daughter’s behaviour, he would be furious as if all seven devils possessed his body. And if he would get an impression that his _so_ _very appropriate and obeying daughter_ made something _very _scandalous, he would call his betrothal off.

_ For example, if someone would find out the perfect little northern lady spent her night with the King in the most _inappropriate _way. _

Sandor wanted to snort at this amazing idea which had suddenly came to his mind, but he was afraid he will wake Sansa up, so he calmed himself down.

Right, Sansa.

Sansa was the worst mummer Sandor met in his life. Which meant that if she will know about the plan in advance she will somehow give both of them away with her words or actions. So he had to act just on his own, so his little mummery will work out perfectly. It was a very spontaneous decision, and Stannis always told him that Sandor wasn’t good in coming up with the plan in a very short time, but at this particular moment Sandor didn’t care about his Hand’s words at all. He just wanted to do what he planned, that’s it.

And then Sansa will be completely free from her hideous betrothed, and there won’t be a need for her to cry in her sleep anymore.

Sansa Stark deserved her happiness, and Sandor was going to make sure she will get the one. She will be free, she will get a good, _ proper _husband in the future, and she won’t cry anymore. 

Sandor told her won’t let anyone hurt her, and he wanted to be a man of his word. Now he just needed quietly get out of his bed, write a note for Lord Stark and handle it to any servant he will be able to find in the middle of the night.

Oh, and to get his dagger as well.

And then Sansa’s happiness will be sorted.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oh shi--  
you definitely should listen to Stannis, my dear Sandor.


	17. In which Ned Stark Meets Despair

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wanted to finish the chapter and post it yesterday, but I was so spent after the busiest week at work that I fell asleep and literally slept for 12 hours... :o  
Anyway, here's an update.  
Ned Stark ft. Despair

Ned had no idea why the young Clegane wanted to see him in the morning without any proper reason for it, but he wasn’t a person who would question the action of the King. So he knocked on the door of his room, trying to figure out what could be the reason of the sudden note he received in the morning. All political matters were always discussed during the meetings, and Ned was sure that in case of a really important issue Clegane would choose Stannis as his first and most important advisor.

But if it wasn't about the politics, then the request of the King was making Ned confused. The only reason for an early call Ned was able to come up with was something related to the issues of the North, and Ned wanted to hope that nothing serious had happened. He didn’t receive any other message from Catelyn or any northern Lord, but the King had his messengers, who could deliver him the news directly and much faster.

Ned sighed and knocked on the door again, starting to relax a little bit. He heard some rustling from the inside, apparently Clegane just woke up. And if he just woke up, it meant there was nothing urgent happening, if the King allowed himself to have a proper rest and not to stay awake, dealing with the issue. Apparently, Clegane’s request had nothing to do with some serious stuff, and Ned even dared to hope that maybe he wanted to talk about his betrothal to Daenerys, dragging Ned out of his bed that early to discuss all things before her departure to Dorne.

There was a muffled stomping sound, and then the door had opened, revealing him little bit sleepy and scruffy Sandor Clegane.

“Lord Stark?” he sounded a little bit confused, but in the next second cleared his throat and straightened his back, as if he remembered only now that he was the King here. 

“I am here regarding the matter you wanted to see me, Your Grace,” Ned bowed his head.

“Aye,” Clegane scratched his chin. “I’m sorry, Lord Stark, but maybe it will be better for us to move somewhere else? So we could talk properly and everything.”

Clegane was tall and had broad shoulders, his body was covering almost the whole doorframe, but even like this Ned was able to see that their King had spent the night not alone. The bed looked quite mussy, and there was a tiny figure covered with furs still sleeping in the middle of it. Ned clicked his tongue, disappointed. He knew about the rumours of Clegane’s imprudence when the subject was about women, but if he invited him to talk about something important, and if this _important _was his future marriage, the fact he preferred to spend the night with another woman, whose name he probably didn’t even remember, was making things more complicated.

The King who wasn’t able to keep his breeches on was a problem. But the King who wasn’t able to keep his breeches on while already thinking about his betrothal to another person was something Ned would too problematic for the Kingdom. If he was acting like this now, there could be a possibility he will continue sleeping with any available wenches even after his marriages, and Ned knew well what could happen because of it - the image of Robert with his numerous bastards appeared in his mind. But Robert’s was just a mere Lord, so his illegitimate children couldn’t affect the destiny of the realm. The bastards of the King could.

He had to have a serious talk with Clegane on this issue, the sooner the better.

“Um,” Ned sighed, trying not to look at the direction of the huge bed. “Maybe you’re right, Your Grace. I’ll wait for you outside.”

Clegane raised his eyebrow, as if he was expecting something else, but simply nodded in reply.

“Thank you, Lord Stark,” he rasped, bowing his head.

He was about to close the door, and Ned was about to leave and wait for him somewhere else, but his eye caught the bed again, completely unintentionally, and he realised that the poor wench just woke up, probably distracted by their voices, sitting up on the bed and rubbing her eyes from the sleep.

“Father?” she asked and Ned froze.

He blinked, hoping that it was just his stupid imagination, too tired from the tough week full of meetings and solving the issues regarding the realm and the North, but even after several blinks, Sansa didn’t disappear from the King’s bed, sitting there with her eyes wide open.

“Um,” Clegane cleared his throat, but at that moment Ned didn’t even want to think about him. Honestly, the only thing he wanted to do in terms of the bloody King was to punch him, but Ned decided to take a proper grip on himself to avoid any mistakes. 

Maybe he was wrong. Maybe it wasn’t what he thought.

“Father, that’s n-not what you’re thinking,” Sansa said in a shaky voice, clinging to the furs.

Sansa was his little lady daughter. A proper lady, who was raised learning what was appropriate for her to do, and what was a no-go area for a young woman like her. And she wasn’t lying, Ned noted. When she was lying to anyone, and especially to him, she started to bite her lips, a small trait Ned memorised since her childhood. And now Sansa was sitting in front of him, looking nervous and a little bit scared, but she wasn’t lying.

Ned sighed. He will find out how on earth his daughter ended up sleeping in the bed of the King, wearing just her nightgown, and he definitely will have a long and proper conversation with Sansa about it. Gods, she was about to be officially betrothed, what she was even thinking when somehow getting in Clegane’s room?

“Sansa,” Ned took a deep breath. “Get out of there and go to your chambers. We will talk later.”

To tell the truth, Ned was proud of himself. He was considered a wise and calm person among the northern Lords, at least that was what Ned was hoping for. But when the things were about his own family and its safety, his blood could heat up very quickly, and sometimes, especially when he was much younger, Ned was finding himself in some stupid fights because of the honour of his siblings or young wife. Good thing that he grew up and became a prudent man, otherwise he could end up on the scaffold with the grumpy executioner and a sharp blade being the last things he saw in his life for making an attempt on the King’s life.

Sansa nodded, grabbing her shawl from the side of the bed. Ned saw that her hands were shaking, she was tense but calm. Clegane was still standing next to him, his hands crossed on his chest, and he didn’t even look bothered about the situation he was in. He earned a conversation about his behaviour as well, but Ned decided that it would be better to give him some proper scolding later on. Probably together with Stannis.

Sansa got out of the bed, tossing the furs away, and then Ned saw the _blood _on the sheets.

The next thing he saw was his fist meeting Clegane’s jaw.

“How _ dare _you?” Ned almost hissed these words, his head spinning around. He heard Sansa’s shriek of horror, as well as a whine from Lady, who also was somewhere in the room, but his eyes were now focused on the King’s scarred mug. He wanted to rip him apart with his bare hands. He wanted to hit him again, even if it meant he will be punished for his actions towards the ruler of the realm, but right now Lord Ned Stark didn’t give any damn about his actions and the possibility they could be considered a royal treason.

“Father, you’re _wrong _!” Sansa attempted to speak in favour of the bugger of the King, but Ned cut her off with an angry sight.

“To your chambers. _ Now_,” he almost spat, taking a step back and giving a space for her to go away. He knew he was acting harsh, but that was the only way he could talk to his _disobedient _daughter now.

Sansa sobbed and rushed out, clasping her shawl to her chest. Lady uttered a whine and followed her, not even paying any attention to Ned. The direwolf looked as if she was worried about Sansa, not understanding the damage what her mistress did for her reputation.

Ned followed her with his eyes, still clenching his fists, and only after his daughter disappeared around the corner, he slowly turned back to face Clegane, panting and trying to take a hold on himself.

“How dare you?” he hissed again, looking directly at the King’s face. Clegane stood still in front of him, his hand pressed to the place on his jaw where Ned hit him minutes ago. He didn’t flinch, didn’t call the guards, he did nothing apart from standing there, shrinking his head into his shoulders and looking apologetically.

“I’m sorry, Lord Stark,” he mumbled, bowing his head. It was enough for Ned to move forward and punch him again.

“_ Sorry _ ?” Ned was seeing red right now, his breath ragged, his fists ready to punch the bugger again. “It was my _ daughter _ whose fate you’ve broken because you weren’t able to keep your breeches on, how can I accept a bloody _ apology _from you?”

“But we…”

“Don’t even dare to say _we _while talking about Sansa and yourself,” Ned cut him off. His nails sunk into his palm, but he didn’t care. “My daughter was about to be betrothed to the heir of the noble house, she was a maid well-taught and raised to be a perfect lady. She dreamed of the life of a lady, and now _ you _took all those dreams from her.”

“I’m sorry,” Clegane blurted again, and Ned was about to punch him again and again, when he was distracted by a loud cough from the side. Ned turned his head to find a completely puzzled Stannis standing in the middle of the dark hall.

“What on earth is happening here?” the Hand of the bloody King asked, his eyes moving from Ned’s fists to Clegane’s jaw and back.

“This bugger…” Ned started, but Stannis stepped back, coughing loudly again.

“Maybe we should move inside the solar and not make the whole keep listen to what you are going to tell me?” he raised his eyebrows.

Ned exhaled, looking around, a tiny sparkle of shame appearing in his mind. Being angry at the King he completely forgot they were standing on the threshold of the solar, the high dome of the keep spreading the echo of his rageful words around. And as long Ned wanted everyone to know what a prick they had as their King, he didn’t want to risk his daughter’s future and reputation. If there still was anything to risk.

He nodded and followed Stannis inside the solar, stopping next to the cold fireplace and crossing his hands on his chest. Stannis locked the door, turning around and eyeing both Clegane and Ned one after another.

“So,” the Hand asked, frowning. “What was that whole scene about?”

“Our dearest King just,” Ned stopped, coming up for air. “He just _spent the night _with _my daughter. _”

“As in?” Stannis asked, looking confused.

“As in _took her maidenhead_,” Ned spat, throwing daggers in the direction of Clegane, who was sitting on the edge of his bed, gazing at the floor.

Stannis raised his eyebrows, expressionless.

“Sandor?” he started slowly, turning his head to the King. “Is Lord Stark telling the truth?”

“Um,” Clegane cleared his throat, his eyes still fixed on the floor. “Yes?”

“That’s not even a question,” Ned sniffed angrily. “He isn’t even denying what he did to my daughter! And she even tried to protect him.”

“Really?” Stannis sounded a little bit surprised. “Then, maybe, everything happened with the proper consent from both of them, right, Sandor?”

“Sansa is a proper lady,” Ned contravened, not even wanting to give a chance for Clegane to reply. “She would never consent for anything like that to happen with a man who isn’t her husband.”

“But if she did…”

“Then it was his job to keep his pants on,” Ned pointed his finger at Clegane. “He is a grown-ass man, and the King to boot. I don’t think he isn’t aware of how the maidenhead is important for every noble lady.”

“You think Joffrey won’t marry her now?” Stannis asked, something new appearing in his tone.

“I am sure Joffrey and Robert will call off the betrothal if they’ve learnt about what happened between Sansa and _him_,” Ned thrust his finger at Clegane again.

“What a shame,” Stannis sighed.

“They should never learn about it,” Ned sighed, shaking his head. “If they will learn about Sansa losing her maidenhead to _ the King_, the betrothal will be called off and Sansa will be dishonoured in the face of the Court, losing any chance for a proper marriage in the future.”

“I don’t think there will be any issue for her to get a decent husband…” Clegane started, but Ned cut him off straight away.

“Don’t you dare to say something like this now,” he hissed, turning back to Stannis. “Lord Stannis, could you please make sure nobody in the whole Westeros will learn about it.”

“I will,” Stannis nodded, narrowing his eyes. “But Joffrey will find out Sansa isn’t a maiden anymore on their wedding night anyway, and it will lead to the huge disaster, that’s what I am sure of.”

“He won’t,” Ned sighed, scratching his beard. “I will come up with something to make sure he will never learn about her losing her maidenhead _ like this _.”

Stannis nodded again, turning his attention to Clegane again.

“Sandor,” he said in a very serious voice which even made Clegane to tilt his head up and look directly at his Hand. “Why have you done this to Lady Sansa?”

“Exactly,” Ned mumbled, furrowing his eyebrows. Bloody Clegane was the King, any woman would jump in his bed with an eager, noble or not, and from all available options, he set his eyes on poor Sansa. Poor Sansa, whose fate could be broken because the wicked wishes of the King.

“Because,” Clegane grumbled, turning his gaze away. “Well, just because.”

“What, His Grace was so bored he had to get into bed a poor maiden?” Ned hissed, feeling scandalised by his answer. “Aren’t the kitchen wenches or any other willing women enough for you?”

“Lord Stark,” Stannis cut him off, raising his head. “You’re talking to the King, after all.”

“Right now I am talking to the bastard who had recently taken advantage over my daughter,” Ned spat. “And I am talking to him not as a Lord Stark, but as a _ father _ \- and I am sure any other father would act the same way on my place.”

“I understand you,” Stannis nodded with a sigh. “But still, please try to control yourself. 

“No worries, I’ve earned it,” Clegane mumbled.

Ned gave an angry laugh in reply.

“Lord Stark,” Stannis rubbed his temple. “Please, let me have a conversation with Sandor. Maybe you should go and tend to your daughter meanwhile?”

He was right, Ned realised. He was so angry at Clegane and wanted to beat the shit out of him so much that he almost forgot about what Sansa was probably feeling right now. Misguided by the King, disgraced, tore apart - she needed someone by her side right now.

“I’ll be going then,” Ned bowed to the Hand, not even taking a look at Clegane. He unlocked the door and went outside, heading straight to Sansa’s chambers.

When he was at her door, Ned stopped, trying to hear what was happening behind them. He was expecting his daughter to cry, but there was a total silence coming from the other side of the door. Ned took a deep breath and knocked on it, preparing himself for a long and very serious conversation with Sansa.

There was a loud thumping sound from the inside, and in a matter of some seconds, Sansa opened a door in front of him. Her cheeks were flushed and hands trembling, but her eyes didn’t look red at all. And there was no fear or horror in them, quite opposite - Ned was really surprised to see a strong determination in her sight.

“Father,” she said, her voice full of the said determination as well. “You understood everything wrong.”

Gods, she was still trying to cover up for the bastard of the King, no matter how big damage he did for her future and her body, taking a full advantage of a sincere and naive maiden.

“How could I understand wrong what I saw with my own eyes?” Ned sighed, closing the door behind him.

“Everything is wrong,” Sansa shook her head, latching on to her dress with her tightly squeezed fists. “Father, I know it looked very improper, but there was nothing between me and Sa… and His Grace.”

“Why are you trying to protect him, Sansa?” Ned laughed sadly. “Did he promised you something in return? Was it money? Jewellery? Any other rubbish the mighty King could get in exchange for the maidenhead of a noble lady?”

“Father!” Sansa protested. “Don’t talk like this. He didn’t promise anything to me, he just let me to have a nap in his bed, that’s all. Nothing had happened between us.”

“But he took your maidenhead, Sansa,” Ned frowned. “The most important thing a young woman could have.”

“But…”

“There was blood on the sheets,” Ned didn’t let her to peep in. “I saw it myself.”

“But nothing happened,” Sansa protested weakly.

“Don’t,” Ned shook his head, disappointed with the attempts of his usually so obedient daughter to make him believe in her lies. “After all, Clegane admitted himself he _ took you _ last night.”

“But that’s not true!” Sansa cried out, her knuckles turning white from the pressure she was putting into her grip. “Father, I’m not lying to you, please believe me!”

“You think Clegane is lying?” Ned cocked his eyebrow.

“He hates liars,” Sansa suddenly whispered, lowering her eyes to the floor. “But why did he confess you something he had never done…”

“But he admitted his crime,” Ned clicked his tongue. “Look, Sansa, I know you must be very ashamed of everything that happened last night, but please, listen to me - we will come up with something, I promise you. And your betrothal to Joffrey will still happen, so…”

“No!” Sansa shrieked, almost jumping away from him. “I can’t marry Joffrey, father.”

“I know you’re stressed out now,” Ned nodded, trying to calm her down. “You think he won’t want to have you after you lost your maidenhead, but I will do everything to hide the truth from him. He will wed you and never learn of what happened between you and Clegane.”

“I can’t marry Joffrey,” Sansa repeated, looking directly at Ned. There was something new in her stare, something Ned never saw in the eyes of his sweet and kind-hearted daughter. Something, that looked like the pure hatred. “Do you want to know how I ended up in Sa… His Grace’s rooms yesterday, father?”

“What?” Ned raised his voice a little bit. “How anything on earth could lead you to go to the room of a person, who is well-known across the court as a man who doesn’t care a curse about women he has in his bed?”

“But these are only stupid rumours about him!” Sansa replied angrily. “Why do you believe in anything people are talking behind Sandor’s back, and still want to close your eyes and ears on things everyone is telling about Joffrey?”

“Because Joffrey is the son of my best friend,” Ned shrugged. “And I know him better than Clegane, and you should know that it isn’t common to spread false rumours about the King - or Crown Prince, as people started to talk about him and his way with women ages ago. And Joffrey…”

“Joffrey tried to _rape _me, father,” Sansa spat and Ned froze.

_ What his daughter was even talking about? _

“What?” he asked, his voice suddenly hoarse. “What do you mean by that, Sansa?”

“I mean what I said,” she squeaked, her face turning red, as if she was feeling too embarrassed and uncomfortable of talking about something like this. “Your _precious _Joffrey tried to rape me, thinking I was a kitchen wench. And he would do so, if Lady wouldn’t come to save me.”

“But how he could mistake you for a kitchen wench?” Ned blinked, trying to put together everything he was hearing right now. “He knows you very well, you’ve spent so much time together during the last weeks.”

“It was before we became acquainted officially,” Sansa replied in a small voice, trying to avoid Ned’s gaze. “It happened on the first night after our arrival to King’s Landing, and…”

“On the _ first night _?” Ned interrupted her, feeling himself lost. “But why didn’t you tell any of us about it, Sansa?”

“I was too embarrassed,” she made a little sob and clutched her dress again. “You know, father, it is too improper for a young lady to talk about such things, right?”

“How could you even think about the bloody propriety when it is about someone who tried to _ rape _you?” Ned gasped in shock. “Sansa, why did you…”

“I was raised like this, father,” she answered, frowning. “Besides, I wasn’t sure if it was _ Joffrey _who was trying to attack me, it all happened in the darkness - and only last night I learned it had to be him, thanks to Lady.”

“By the Old Gods, Sansa…” Ned shook his head, taking a step forward and putting his hand on his daughter’s shoulder. “Why didn’t you come to me or Robb?”

“I was afraid you won’t believe me,” Sansa answered, averting her gaze again. “I am so sorry, father, but I knew how much you wanted to see me wed to him, I was scared you could decide I am trying to make things up to call off the betrothal.”

“Sansa,” Ned sighed, squeezing his hand. “Are you not lying to me about this thing with Joffrey?”

“I’m telling you the truth,” she raised her head and look directly at him. She wasn’t lying, Ned saw it in her eyes, and a sour feeling of guilt appeared in his chest.

“I am so sorry, Sansa,” he almost whispered these words, dragging her to himself and embracing her. “You’re right, I was a fool who wanted to fulfil his wish and see his daughter joining the house of his friend in a happy marriage… And my stubbornness made you go and lie with the King - you’ve done it to avoid the betrothal, right?”

“But I didn’t lie down with His Grace,” Sansa objected. “I went to him to talk, because I knew he will listen to me, and then I fell asleep in his bed, and that was all, I’ve just told you so.”

“Then it means he took an advantage of you while you’ve been dreaming,” Ned muttered, feeling an utter disgust toward Clegane. “How he even dared to…”

“Sandor isn’t a monster,” Sansa interrupted, getting out of his embrace and looking at him in shock. “He wouldn’t do anything like this, I am sure.”

“He admitted he took your maidenhead, Sansa,” Ned shook his head. “In front of me and Lord Stannis, which means you’re not telling me everything that happened between you last night.”

“But…” Sansa started, blinking at a loss what to do with everything she just heard from Ned.

“Maybe you were too traumatised with everything that happened you just don’t want to even believe in what he did to you,” Ned sighed, patting her head. “Don’t worry, Sansa, I will figure out what we can do for you - I will find you a proper husband, who will never learn about your lost maidenhead.”

“Um,” Sansa cleared her throat, looking at Ned with confusion. “But I clearly remember how I went to sleep after our conversation yesterday, and then…”

“Sansa,” Ned sighed again. “Please, don’t think about it now. You’re too tired and confused, I can understand how you decided to erase some unpleasant memories from your mind, but now you need to have a proper rest, right?”

“Right,” Sansa mumbled, her eyebrows narrowed. “Father, do you think I could forget something which happened to me?”

“Maybe,” Ned nodded, unable to hide his sadness. “Sometimes our minds are working very strange just to protect us.”

“I see,” Sansa answered quietly, the hatred from her eyes gone and replaced by some sort of pain. “But I still can’t believe Sandor… _ His Grace _ could do anything like this…”

“Don’t worry about him now,” Ned answered with a smile, trying to cheer his daughter up. “Take a rest, Sansa, don’t think about anything bad - and let me sort some things for you.”

“Alright,” Sansa replied, her voice still quiet and filled with sorrow. “I am so glad you listened to me, father.”

“Me too,” Ned nodded, patting her head again before he turned around and left her bedroom, closing the door behind him.

Sansa needed to spend some time on her own now, and Ned had some very important matters to take care of. He went to his chambers, changing his clothes to more formal ones, his thoughts focused on Sansa’s words about Joffrey.

The son of his best friend was trying to rape Sansa, because he mistook her for a kitchen wench. Which meant he was about to intentionally force himself on another poor girl. That wasn’t something Joffrey he knew would do, but Sansa didn’t act as if she was lying to him, and there were all those rumours about Joffrey’s vile nature Ned didn’t want to believe. But Sansa insisted these rumours were true, and her story was like the last nail in the coffin of her possible marriage to Joffrey Baratheon. Ned wanted to see his daughter happy, and not being wed to a person who could rape any woman without the second thought. It would be improper to call off their betrothal like this, without giving any explanations to the court, but Ned had to do it.

But first, he had to find Robert and discuss with him his son’s behaviour.

His friend was also very keen to talk to Ned about something, as in a couple of seconds there was a loud knock on the chamber’s door and an angry Robert Baratheon appeared on the threshold of his door, not even waiting for Ned’s reply or admittance to open the door.

“What is this mummery, Ned?” he spat, closing the door behind him and crossing his hands on his chest. “I thought we agreed on the betrothal of our children, and what I am finding out the first thing in the morning?”

“What?” Ned raised his eyebrow.

“That your _daughter_, who was promised to my son, is happily sharing her bed with _the other man_,” Robert barked out an angry laugh. “Ned, we had an agreement, right?”

“We had,” Ned started, clearing his throat, trying to figure out how Robert even learnt about what happened between Sansa and Clegane. “But you see, Sansa…”

“And I thought you were an honourable man,” Robert shook his head. “And your daughter was a proper-raised maiden. So, everything you told me was a lie, right?”

“Look, I am very disappointed in Sansa,” Ned felt his blood heating up. “But you see, your son isn’t a decent person as well.”

“My son is heartbroken because of your daughter’s betray,” Robert cut him off. “Joffrey asked me to call off the betrothal straight away, and that’s what I am here to talk to you about.”

“Which is great, because I wanted to talk to you about the same thing,” Ned sighed. “Robert, please, listen to me. There’s one thing Sansa told me about Joffrey, and I think it is important for you to know everything about your son.”

“What do you want to tell me about him, Ned,” Robert frowned.

“Sansa told me he tried to,” Ned stopped, taking a deep breath. “To _rape _her while ago. Do you understand what it means, Robert?”

“Don’t you _dare _to talk like this about Joffrey,” his friend spat, becoming enraged. “Are you trying to cover your daughter’s behaviour with this stupid lie? That’s now what an _ honourable _Ned Stark would do, not at all.”

Robert was too angry with the news of Sansa, he wouldn’t listen to anything Ned was trying to tell him. He was enraged, he was full of distrust, he didn’t want to hear any other opinion which would differ from his own. Ned sighed, realising he will have to postpone this conversation with his friend for later on.

“Look, Robert,” he tried to calm him down. “I am deeply sorry about anything that caused the end of the betrothal from our side. I am, you should know that. But please, try to calm down and let’s have a proper conversation a little bit later, alright?”

Robert eyed him from head to toe, his face still expressing a huge disappointment in his best friend.

“Whatever, “ he spat again, turning around and putting his hand on the doorknob. “But remember, Ned, I could consider it as a betrayal of our friendship.”

“We just need to talk when both of us will calm down,” Ned shook his head. “And please trust me, Robert, I never wanted to betray our friendship. Not after all these years.”

“Whatever,” Robert shrugged and went out of the room, leaving Ned alone, his head full of rambling thoughts.

What an _amazing _day it was. His daughter had disobeyed him, lying down with a man who wasn’t even her betrothed. The Kind and the bloody protector of the realm had appeared to be an utter bastard and forced himself on a young lady who appeared to be too shocked after finding out the truth about her betrothed. And his best friend was thinking Ned was trying to trick him and maybe even encouraged his daughter to lie with another man so the betrothal between her and Joffrey would be called off.

Ned rubbed his temple, trying not to moan from the disappointment and headache which slowly crept into his head. This was the worst day of his life, for sure. Nothing else could make things even worse.

Oh, how wrong he was.

After the dinner, which Ned asked to be brought into his rooms, he was visited by the Grand Maester himself.

“There’s a raven for you, Lord Stark,” Pycelle mumbled, holding out a sealed parchment.

Ned thanked him, taking the letter and breaking the seal of House Mormont, reading the letter carefully. By the end of the last line, he wanted to forget about everything and just scream in despair.

Arya, his dearest Arya decided to be a proper little rebel and run away from home, thinking she will be able to live a life full of adventures and danger. It was a miracle that she didn’t end up meeting some sort of outlaws or criminals, who would make no bones about her, but ran into the travelling party of Lord Mormont instead. She was now on his ship, two or three days from their arrival to the capital. Lord Mormont wrote he made Arya believe no one recognised her, though the whole crew knew who the little girl on the board was, and everyone was taking care of her, making sure that the daughter of Lord Stark was well fed and there was no danger for her well-being.

Ned put the parchment away and thanked the Old Gods they kept their eye on Arya and didn’t let her encounter any danger. But still, now there was another _serious _conversation awaiting him at the time the ship of Lord Mormont will reach King’s Landing.

It also meant that he will have to take care for _two _disobedient daughters now.

It was only an early afternoon, and Ned’s headache was already slowly killing him. Ned drunk a full jug of water, but it didn’t help him to feel better at all. The only thing which could help him to feel himself a little bit better was a quick nap, it would hunt the ache away and make him a little bit refreshed, but as soon as Ned decided to go to his bed and sleep just for a little bit, there was a knock on his door again.

“What?” Ned groaned, opening it, and frowned straight away after realising it was Clegane who came to see him.

“Lord Stark,” the bastard started in an apologetic tone. “Can we please talk for a little bit?”

“About what?” Ned spat, not wanting even to see his disfigured face.

“About some important things,” Clegane sighed, looking around. “Please, let me in.”

“Whatever,” Ned shrugged, turning around and marching back inside. He heard Clegane following him and closing the door, but didn’t even stop to wait for the King.

Ned crossed the whole room, seating himself on the chair at his desk, locking his fingers in front of him and eyeing Clegane with some sort of a suspicion.

“What on earth you wanted to talk about?” he inquired, narrowing his eyebrows.

Clegane looked around, clearly feeling himself too uncomfortable being alone with Ned in the same room, but in the end sat down on the chair next to the desk and looked directly into his eyes.

“Lord Stark,” he said, clearing his throat. “It’s about Sansa.”

“It’s _ Lady _Sansa for you,” Ned corrected him in a blank voice.

“Aye, about Lady Sansa,” Clegane agreed with a sigh. “Look, I know I did a huge mistake with everything that happened between us, but I wanted to ask you if you called off her betrothal to Joffrey Baratheon?”

“I did,” Ned nodded, his eyes cold. “Because _ someone _had shared the secret we agreed to him with Joffrey and Robert, so there was no way they would keep the betrothal.”

“Aye, I heard about it,” Clegane murmured. “Somehow the rumours reached both Baratheons, and now Joffrey is spreading the word about his disgraceful betrothed everywhere, calling her _names _and everything. Disgusting.”

“If you think so, maybe you should hold your tongue and not let the others know what happened last night?”

“But I haven’t told them anything, Lord Stark,” Clegane looked at him in a surprise. “I was grounded by Lord Stannis for my actions and only now got a chance to get out and talk to you.”

“Then how they even learnt about Sansa?” Ned frowned, trying to find the sign on Clegane’s face or in his voice that he was lying about it.

“I don’t know,” the King shook his head, his eyes disappointed but sincere. “Look, Lord Stark, when I said I was sorry about what had happened between me and _ Lady _Sansa, I meant it.”

“She was trying to protect you, you know?” Ned laughed bitterly, not even being able to understand why on earth his daughter was so keen to help the bloody Clegane to escape the blame. “She was so shocked and traumatised by everything you did to her that she can’t even remember anything from the last night.”

“Um,” Clegane cleared his throat again, shifting on his place uncomfortably. He looked like he wanted to say something, but didn’t even dare to open his mouth and say something which could be used against himself later on.

_ At least one smart decision from him today. _

“What you were even thinking about, Clegane?” Ned covered his forehead with his hands, trying to ease the ache. “You’re saying you are sorry now, but where was your mind when you took my daughter’s maidenhead? And you took not only it, but her future as well - do you think she will be able to find a proper husband now? Especially after Joffrey is trying to spatter her even more in the eyes of the whole court? And I was even thinking before you were caring for my daughter before, when you were trying to defend her in our arguments.”

“I care for Lady Sansa,” Clegane mumbled.

“But you still went on and broke her life,” Ned rolled up his eyes. “What you were even thinking about?”

“Maybe I wasn’t even thinking,” Clegane sighed. “Sometimes we are making very questionable decisions when we are trying to protect someone, who is important for us, right, Lord Stark?”

“What do you mean?” Ned frowned.

“Nothing,” Clegane waved his hand. “It’s not important now, but I just hoped you will understand me a little bit.”

“I don’t think I ever made a questionable decision in my life,” Ned objected. “Especially when it would lead to the fact I or someone important to me will be badmouthed by the others.”

“Even when the people are calling you an adulterer and your nephew a bastard?” Clegane raised his brow in a surprise.

“_ Excuse me _ ?” Ned froze on place, his mind racing rabidly. “What you even know about me or my, as you say, _ nephew _?”

“I am the King, right?” Clegane laughed sadly. “Which means I have my ways to learn the truth about some things. But anyway, now it’s not about you or your choices, Lord Stark.”

“Right,” Ned answered carefully, hoping he won’t give up his shock or fear. “It’s about _ your _actions and choices, Clegane.”

“Aye, about mine,” he nodded in reply. “You know, Lord Stark, I spent some hours on my own, thinking about what I have done, and also I remembered all your words about how my _ ill-judged _ actions could affect the life of your daughter…”

“They _are _affecting her already,” Ned felt the corner of his mouth twitching in irritation. “Especially if everything you told about Joffrey and his rumours is true.”

“Plus, I am a grown-ass man, as you said,” Clegane suddenly snorted. “Which means I need to take full responsibility for my actions, right?”

“You want me to hit you in your jaw once more time?” Ned inquired not without an interest.

“Um, no?” Clegane flinched, his hand moving to the place on his face where a small bruise had already appeared.

“Then what?” Ned sighed, lying back in his chair.

“Lord Stark,” Clegane grumbled, looking directly in his eyes, full of the same determination Ned had already seen today in his daughter’s gaze. “I wanted to ask you for Lady Sansa’s hand in marriage.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i wonder who shared the news with Robert and Joffrey... :0


	18. In which Arya Hears the News, and Sansa is Ready for the Wedding

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> spanishinquisition.jpg

Lord Mormont said they will reach the capital in two days, maybe even less if the weather would be merciful to them. Arya quickly counted on fingers and pouted. The day of their arrival was falling on Sansa’s nameday, and that meant there will be the _feast_. Arya loved her sister, even though they weren’t able to find the common grounds when they were younger, and, of course, she wanted to be there to celebrate Sansa’s nameday with her - but gods, the _feast_. 

Arya didn’t like to take part in them when her family was arranging a different kind of feasts in Winterfell, especially after she became a little bit older and _both _her parents started to insist she _had _to wear nice and pretty dresses for them.

And now Sansa and her father were currently living at the new King’s court. Arya had never been to the capital before, but she was sure there were certain rules for the feasts at Red Keep. And of course all noble _ladies _had to look nice and wear those bloody dresses. And Arya was called a _ lady _more and more often for the past year, which meant there was no way her father will allow her to attend the feast dressed in her squire clothes Lord Mormont’s servant provided her.

Arya groaned and left her small cabin. When Lord Mormont made her his squire, Arya - or, as she was known among the men on this ship, Jon - was given a private cabin. It was tiny and there were just a bed, a little chest, and a tiny table with one chair, but she didn’t complain. There was no need for anything else, and having a separate cabin just for herself, even a tiny one, was much better than sharing a spacious room with the others.

The cook gave her her breakfast and a jug of water. Arya was chewing on a salty dried meat when some of the Mormont soldiers joined her, their glasses full of something Arya didn’t even want to have an idea. She tasted some shitty ale once by mistake in Winterfell, thinking that Theon’s jug was hers one, and after that accident Arya never wanted to have even a little sip of any ale or whine, no matter how good it was.

“So, are you getting ready for the feast, Jon?” one of the soldiers patted her shoulder in a friendly way, his words made Arya almost choke on her meat.

“W-what feast?” she asked in a small voice, hoping she didn’t sound to afraid or suspicious.

The only feast which _probably _was coming was the one dedicated to Sansa’s nameday. And even if it would happen, Arya knew her father won’t make a huge deal out of it. Maybe a little feast in the walls of the Red Keep, where her family and their close friends will be present, maybe some other noble families too - but it wasn’t something common people would know.

Unless they were invited there by her father. Lord Mormont was a northerner and a good friend of House Stark, her father would ask him to join everyone to honour the nameday of his eldest daughter. And if Lord Mormont was invited, so his squire will have to join him too.

Yes, Arya thought, that was right. Her secret was still safe with her, and the soldiers were simply asking her if a young squire was eager to attend his first huge feast and sit there among the nobles. They didn’t know she was Arya Stark and weren’t asking if she was getting ready for _her sister’s _nameday feast.

That was good.

“You didn’t hear?” another soldier - Wyman was his name, - asked. “Everyone’s talking about the letter our Lord received in the morning.”

“Jon just wake up recently,” another man shrugged. “So, I suppose, didn’t hear the news.”

“What news?” Arya cleared her throat.

“The King’s getting married in two days,” Wyman explained, pointing his index finger to the sky. “And it is a _ tradition _that the whole city will be celebrating his wedding, so feasts and fairs should be held everywhere.”

“Really?” Arya felt her eyes to widen a little bit. “But he’s ugly like…”

“He’s the _ King_,” Wyman snorted. “I bet it’s not about the looks in this particular case.”

“Don’t be so grumpy,” an older soldier laughed. “Sometimes people are marrying each other because of _ certain feelings _ between them.”

“Or one of them has a fat purse,” Wyman was not giving up.

“I’m sure our King’s betrothed isn’t marrying him because of his wealth or his crown,” the older soldier smiled. “We, northerners, have some honour in our blood, after all.”

“Is he marrying a girl from the North?” Arya scowled. She had no idea who the lady was, but she was already feeling so sorry for her. To leave the North and spend the rest of her life with the scarred King - well, it wasn’t something Arya could wish for any daughter of northern House.

Was the King marrying Alys Karstark? Or maybe one of Lord Manderly’s granddaughters? Or - Arya gasped, - what if his betrothed was a niece of Lord Mormont himself? He never mentioned the wedding to his squire, but there always was a chance that everything was arranged under wraps to not to drag attention from the others.

“Aye, the beautiful daughter of the North,” the older soldier’s smile became warm, as he was sincerely approving the King’s choice of betrothed. “The firstborn daughter of our good Warden, Lady Sansa.”

“Lady _ Who _?” Arya shrieked and choked on her breakfast.

That was an utter madness, Arya knew it. No, it had to be a mistake. Sansa was betrothed to that Joffrey, right? There was no way her father could end the betrothal between his daughter and Robert Baratheon’s son. And Sansa was a sweet girl who liked pretty things and handsome knights, she wouldn’t even think of marrying someone like the _ King_.

“Lady Sansa,” Wyman repeated. “Well, at least that was written in the letter Lord Mormont received from the Red Keep. Go and ask him, if you don’t believe us.”

Oh no, it was _real_. Arya gulped, thinking of the marriage between her sister and the _ King_. That was bad,

Now she will be forced to wear the pretty dress by any cost.

  
  


***

  
  


Sansa was sincerely confused. No, not even confused - she had no idea what was going on _at all_.

First, she woke up in Sandor’s bed, where she fell asleep the previous night, so it didn’t surprise her at all. But there was her lord father in Sandor’s room, not looking amused with the fact his daughter was sleeping in another man’s bed. But then her father hit Sandor, and the King didn’t even try to defend himself. Sansa was sent into her chambers, and later on, her father arrived and told her that Sandor had forced himself on her and took her maidenhead.

It sounded so weird and unrealistic, Sansa knew that Sandor wasn’t a man who could _rape _a lady in her sleep, but her father insisted that it had happened. And that Sandor himself had confessed his crime in front of him and Lord Stannis. And that Sansa’s mind was just playing tricks on her, so she could overcome such distress. 

Sansa knew something was wrong here. Sandor wouldn’t do anything like that, but at the same time Sandor was a man who detested lies. After her father left, she spent the rest of her day trying to figure out what was happening, as well as recalling everything that happened last night - and coming to the conclusion that her father was wrong. There was no way Sandor touched her with any bad intention, but the fact he was lying in front of the high Lords was disturbing Sansa.

And then her father was back, looking sullen and tired. He told Sansa that there won’t be any feast in her honour. Instead, she will be wed to the King right on her nameday. He stormed off her room as soon as the news was delivered, leaving Sansa with her eyes widened in shock and her blood boiling inside her veins.

She had no idea what was happening. Apart from the fact she was marrying Sandor just in couple of days. 

To be honest, Sansa didn’t know how to react to this fact.

The next days went as in a fog. She was visited by the seamstresses, who smiled at confused Sansa and promised to make the best gown for her just in two days. And the cloak, as the one her mother sewed when Sansa was a babe was left in Winterfell. Sansa thanked them, but wasn’t able to tell anything else. She was afraid that she could say too much.

She spent almost all her days inside her chambers, too nervous getting out and being met by the people who lived in the Red Keep. When the whole thing with her and Sandor had happened, Sansa heard that _someone _was spreading rumours inside the Keep about her being a little lady whore. Sansa knew it was a lie, but it was too much. The rumours had stopped as fast and suddenly as they’ve started, but she wasn’t comfortable enough to stroll the long halls of the Keep as she did before.

Sansa’s chambermaids, who suddenly started to act way more polite and respectful, were bringing her food. Sansa had no idea if her presence was required at the Great Hall, but her father, who was coming to see her almost every time he was free, explained that there was nothing wrong with her being in her chambers. He also told her about the story the Hand of the King came up to make sure nobody could ever have any ill thoughts about Sansa. According to Stannis, the match between Sansa and the King was arranged as soon as the betrothal between Sandor and Daenerys Targaryen didn’t work. It was kept secret, but somehow the truth spilt out and someone decided to use it to slander the future Queen, spreading the false rumours about her lying with the King for her gain.

Sansa wanted to tell her father she didn’t lie with Sandor _at all_, but he was too deep in his thoughts and concerns that there was no reason even to start that conversation.

Lord Stark was unhappy about the upcoming wedding, it was understandable by the way he spoke about Sandor. But at least Lord Robert seemed to calm down and wasn’t causing him any trouble. What was going on in Joffrey’s head was a big mystery for her, but Sansa had no wish to even think about it.

At least she was free from being betrothed to him. Even if it meant she will have to marry someone else.

Her gown and cloak were ready on the evening before her wedding. She tried them on and, looking at herself in the huge mirror, she still wasn’t able to fully realise she will be married tomorrow.

“You will be the most beautiful bride,” her father told her, adjusting her cloak and squeezing her shoulder. He smiled, but his eyes were sad, and Sansa wanted to assure him she will be fine, but the words stuck in her throat.

She wasn’t sure if she will be fine. She needed to see Sandor, to talk to him before their wedding, to get the answers to all her questions, so she could ease her nervousness and calm herself down. But she was told by Lord Stannis that the King was quite busy before his wedding, as the whole capital was preparing for the celebration. It was a normal thing for the Royal weddings, but it took time and effort. 

She embraced her father and then he left, telling Sansa she had to get a proper rest before the most important day of her life. The seamstresses helped her to take off her gown and cloak, and also left, making the way for Sansa’s chambermaids. They brought her dinner and a hot bath. One of them offered her help, but Sansa wanted to spend some time on her own.

When she was left alone with Lady, who was sleeping near the fireplace. Sansa sighed, taking the plate full of food as seating herself on the warm carpet, resting her back against her direwolf’s soft fur. Lady made a lazy yap, but didn’t even open her eyes.

At least there was one carefree creature in the Keep.

Sansa ate her dinner in a total silence, and it was already dark when she put the empty plate away. She had to take her bath and go to sleep, as she would be woken up quite early tomorrow. The maids had to dress her up and do her hair, and Sansa assumed they will need some extra time for it. 

The water had cooled a little bit, but still was to Sansa’s liking. She quickly took her dress and her shift off, leaving them on the edge of her bed, together with her stockings and smallclothes. Sansa got into a large tub and made herself comfortable, closing her eyes and taking a deep breath, trying to relax.

Her head, unfortunately, was full of dull questions, which were haunting her and making her nervous.

She still had no clear idea what to think of her upcoming marriage. It was so sudden and so unexpected, and that was exactly why Sansa wasn’t able to calm herself down. She wasn’t prepared for the marriage, she wasn’t ready to become someone’s _dutiful wife_, even if that man was Sandor. Well, at least she got a chance to get to know him. She was aware of his thoughts and beliefs, she knew what he liked, and, most importantly, Sandor had the same knowledge about her.

Sansa lowered herself in the water, so now her chin was touching the warm surface. maybe there was a chance that things could work between them. At least she know that Sandor was an honourable man, and Sandor was respecting her views and wishes in return. And Sandor was her _friend_. Sansa never thought she could end up marrying her _friend_, but at least he wasn’t a total stranger, who wouldn't reckon with her words and thoughts.

There was a base for their marriage, and it already was _something_.

Sansa sighed and reached for the soap. The water was getting colder, so she decided she was done with the soaking and had to wash herself quickly. She was in the middle of washing her hair when she heard a muffled knock on the door. Sansa quickly looked around, but her direwolf was still sleeping. She was always acting like that when Sansa’s chambermaids were around, as no harm would come from them, so Sansa smiled and put her soap to the side.

“Come in,” she said in a loud voice, quickly braiding her hair. She smiled, hoping that the conversation with her chambermaid won’t take long, so then she could get out of the tub and go to sleep.

The wooden door had opened and Sansa squeaked, trying to cover herself with her hands. 

“You aren’t a chambermaid,” she accused Sandor in a weak voice.

“Um,” he answered, shifting uncomfortably and lowering his gaze. “No?”

Sansa gasped, lowering herself down and hoping that the water was hiding her naked body well enough. Why on the earth she had to braid her hair!

“I t-thought it was my chambermaid,” she mumbled, shifting her eyes to her sleeping direwolf, who reacted to Sandor’s presence with a lazy twitch of her ear. “Lady is usually reacting to your presence more vividly.”

“She’s tired,” Sandor cast a quick look to the huge animal too. “Um, Sansa?”

He finally looked at her, his eyes focused on her face, and Sansa calmed down a little bit. Maybe Sandor wasn’t a gallant knight from her childhood fairytales, but Sansa knew he wouldn’t embarrass her and peek at her breasts, which she was covering with her hands.

Besides, she was going to be wed to Sandor tomorrow, which meant that they will have to consummate their marriage. Sansa didn’t know too much about it, her septa and lady mother being far away in Winterfell and unable to talk to her about her duties as a wife. It was a little bit concerning, but Sansa knew she will manage somehow. She also knew that she will have to take off her clothes, so Sandor will see her naked _anyway_.

Sansa sighed and moved her hands away from her breasts.

“Yes?” she asked politely, watching Sandor carefully close the door and walk to the direction of her bed.

“I wanted to talk to you,” he said, looking around. “It won’t take too much time, as there’s no way Stannis won’t notice I am absent from my chambers, I promise.”

“Alright,” Sansa agreed. To be honest, she wouldn’t mind if he stayed here longer.

“Can I sit?” Sandor pointed at her bed, and Sansa nodded.

He made himself more or less comfortable on the edge of her bed and finally looked at her.

“Um,” he said again and Sansa realised that he noticed just now that she wasn’t covering herself anymore. Her bedroom had a dim lighting from a couple of candles on her bed, but she was able to notice the redness which appeared on Sandor’s good ear anyway.

Sansa quickly covered her breasts with her hands again, averting her eyes. She hoped Sandor won’t think her wanton or something.

“What you wanted to talk about?” she chirped, praying to the Gods her voice wasn’t trembling.

Sandor took a deep breath.

“We are getting married tomorrow,” he said, and Sansa wasn’t able to fully understand the emotions in his voice. There certainly was a nervousness, maybe some uncertainty too, and… A fear?

“I guess we are,” she smiled to herself. It felt so unreal.

She was sitting in her tub, naked, and talking to a man who was her friend, but also her future husband. Sansa was sure that the situation of this sort wasn’t common to happen for any proper lady, but she didn’t care.

“I’m sorry,” Sandor suddenly said, and the fear in his voice was palpable now.

Sansa shifted a little bit, moving her body in a way she could look at Sandor without stretching her neck too much.

“Sandor?” she frowned, and he raised his stare, looking at her.

His eyes were full of some strange pain, and Sansa didn’t like it.

“It’s my fault,” he said, sighing. “I was worried about your future and tried to help you, but I am the worst helper in the whole Westeros. And now you’re dragged to the unwanted marriage.”

“Help me?” Sansa cocked her eyebrow.

“Aye,” Sandor shook his head. “Stannis always said I am bad with strategies and planning, and I guess he’s right.”

“And what exactly was your plan about?” she made herself comfortable in the cool water. It would be better to get out of the tub, but then she will be completely naked in the same room with a man. Even if he would turn around, it still was _too much_.

“I wanted Lord Stark to call off your betrothal to Joffrey,” Sandor snorted. “Well, at least I’ve succeeded in this.”

“You did,” Sansa gave him a reassuring smile.

“I thought that if your father would be scandalised with the fact you’ve laid with a man before your wedding, it will be enough for him to think that your lost maidenhead would be a good reason to not marry you to that prick.”

“Oh,” Sansa said. “S-so you?..”

“So I cut myself and in the beginning everything went more or less according to my brilliant plan,” Sandor laughed, but his smile didn’t reach his eyes. “Your father saw the blood and accused me of taking advantage of you straight away.”

“But he still wanted to marry me to Joffrey even after seeing it,” Sansa shuddered. “He changed my mind only after hearing my story.”

“So you’ve told him?” Sandor nodded. “Good.”

“Good,” Sansa agreed. “You don’t need to be sorry for what you did.”

“But because of my actions all those bloody rumours had started,” Sandor growled. “Gods, Sansa, I have no idea how someone was able to spread them, but I knew it was my fault people were talking _ things _about you, so I had to stop them somehow.”

“And you asked my father for my hand in marriage?” Sansa’s voice was blank, but she knew she was smiling again. Completely unintentionally.

“Aye,” Sandor sighed, hanging down his head. “Sansa, I’m sorry about it, I just wanted to…”

“It’s alright,” she cut him off in the middle of his sentence. “I mean, it’s really alright.”

“I don’t think it is…”

“Sandor,” she reached out her hand and touched his knee. She knew it was wrong for a lady like her to do something like this, and for anyone, it would be wrong to touch the _ King _like this, but she didn’t think about any proprieties right now. “Look at me, Sandor.”

He raised his head, the pain in his eyes was mixed with sorrow.

“If I say it’s alright, then it is,” she locked her eyes with his and kept her smile on. Somehow it wasn’t as laboured as before. “I mean, I don’t mind marrying you at all. Especially after I’ve learnt you did nothing to me that night.”

“There was no way I could hurt you,” Sandor grumbled.

“I know,” Sansa smiled knowingly. “I was just not sure why you were lying to my father and Lord Stannis, you usually hate lies with all your heart, but now I know.”

“I was trying to protect you,” he smiled, and Sansa thought that there was something shy about his smile. “What a shitty protector I am.”

“You’re wrong,” she squeezed his knee. “I’m really happy I don’t need to marry Joffrey.”

“But you still need to marry someone you don’t want.”

“At least I am marrying my _friend_,” Sansa retorted, and Sandor’s mouth twitched. “And believe me, that’s way better than if I had to marry a lording I’ve never met in my life. Or someone who wouldn’t respect me or see me for who I am, and not just a noble daughter of Warden of the North.”

“You think so,” Sandor mumbled, trying to avert his gaze again, but Sansa squeezed her fingers once again, making him flinch and look at her.

“I’m sure of it,” she said, and for the first time during their conversation there was a confidence in her voice.

“Sansa,” he gulped, but the pain in his eyes was now mixed with some sort of hope. “I know I didn’t deserve it, but I’ll try to be a good husband for you.”

“As I will be a good wife for you,” she smiled shyly. “We will make it work, right?”

“Right,” Sandor said. He leaned forward and reached out his hand, brushing away a strand of hair from her temple. He was so close, Sansa was able to feel his hot breath on her cheeks, and she didn’t mind it at all. She also moved closer to him, noticing a bruise on his jaw - right where her lord father hit him several mornings before.

Sansa had no idea if that bruise was painful, she wanted to touch it and ease any pain Sandor was feeling there, and suddenly Sansa remembered she was still naked under the cold water, so she made a tiny squeak.

“R-right,” Sandor almost jumped away, as if getting back to his senses. “Then, I guess, it’s sorted?”

“It is,” Sansa chirped in a tiny voice, dipping in the water and watching Sandor to stand up. 

“You know,” he suddenly said, looking her straight in the eyes. “Stannis said you will make the perfect Queen for this realm.”

“Did he?” Sansa felt her cheeks blushing.

“Aye,” Sandor nodded. He looked more relaxed now than just some moments ago, and Sansa decided it was a good sign. “And, you know, he’s always right about all those things, Queen Sansa.”

Sansa pouted, and Sandor laughed at her reaction. This time his eyes were smiling too, and Sansa knew she liked him this way.

She wanted to hope their sudden marriage will work.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> here comes the wedding--


	19. In which Ned Stark Marries his Daughter off, and Sansa Gets an Unexpected Wedding Night

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WEDDING TIME

Ned arrived at the harbour quite early, but the ship which brought Lord Mormont and his daughter to the capital was already here. He spotted some northern warriors busy with their tasks, then his eyes caught Lord Mormont himself talking to the captain of the ship. Arya was nowhere to be seen, though. Ned looked around and sighed, straddling into the direction of docks, where his beloved daughter was trying to sneak away.

“Explain yourself, young lady,” he said in the most serious voice, grabbing Arya by her shoulder.

She shrieked and jumped on the place, turning to Ned with her eyes wide open.

“W-what are you doing here, father?” she asked with a panic in her voice.

“I’m more than sure it should be my line,” Ned sighed. “Gods, Arya, do you realise how frightened your mother was when she found out that you have disappeared?”

Arya mumbled something unrecognisable, lowering her eyes to the ground and digging at the ground with the toe of her boot.

“We’ll talk about it later,” Ned shook his head, tightening his grip on her arm. “Now we need to be back at the Keep and at least dress you properly.”

“Is it true that Sansa is getting married today?” Arya rattled off, tilting her head.

“It is,” Ned confirmed, hoping he didn’t sound too sour. The wedding was happening, and there was no way he could influence the way of the events. As much as he despised the whole idea of his daughter marrying Clegane, King or not.

“I thought she was betrothed to Joffrey,” Arya narrowed her eyes, but Ned just hushed her up and walked in the direction of Jorah Mormont, his grip still tight on his disobedient daughter’s shoulder.

“I thank you for taking care of Arya, Lord Mormont,” he bowed his head.

“It was my pleasure,” his fellow northerner said with a smile. “After all, your daughter is quite eager to learn new things and made a very decent squire.”

Arya’s eyes sparkled with excitement. 

“Is it so?” Ned cocked his eyebrow.

Jorah Mormont scratched his beard. It looked like he wanted to tell Ned something, but in the end he just waved his hand and asked him if there was a chance for them to have a quick conversation after the meeting with the Small Council in two days.

Ned agreed, and they parted their ways, with Ned taking a cart to bring his daughter to the Red Keep and make sure she will be washed and dressed properly before the wedding ceremony in the Great Sept.

To think of the fact Sansa was getting married in the _bloody _ Great Sept. Ned sighed and shook his head, trying not to show Arya the concern in his eyes. The truth about the sudden marriage between Sansa and Clegane stayed between them and Stannis. It was a good thing they had Stannis on their side. At least he was able to calm Robert down, offering him _a way better _marriage option for Joffrey, which lifted his friend’s spirit. Even Robb was not fully aware of everything that happened between Sansa and Clegane, even though he tried to find out about the urgency of his sister’s marriage. Ned knew that his son was friends with Joffrey, but somehow he didn’t have any questions about the fact his father had called off the original betrothal.

Arya was suspiciously quiet during the whole ride to the Red Keep, but as soon as Ned brought her to his chamber, where the maids had already prepared a large tub full of hot water and a pretty dress for her, she started to fuss about not wanting to look like a lady at all.

“Arya,” he sighed, feeling himself so tired already. “You could wear your beloved squire clothes for the rest of your stay in the capital, but it’s _your sister’s _wedding, which means you will be standing there in the first row, where hundreds of Lords and Ladies will be looking at you. You need to look presentable.”

“I didn’t ask Sansa to marry that ugly King and have a wedding in the Great Sept,” Arya mumbled, but joined the maids. Ned’s promise regarding her clothes had worked.

He stepped out of his chamber, closing the door behind him. Arya’s arrival to the capital was quite unexpected, but at least he had already arranged her stay in the Keep with Stannis. After the wedding, Arya will live in Sansa’s old chamber, as there was nothing else left spare in the building, and Sansa was about to move to the Royal headquarter. 

After all, she was about to become the _ Queen_.

Bloody unbelievable.

Some time later, Arya emerged from his room, washed and dressed into a beautiful blue and grey gown, her hair combed and styled into northern way. Ned nodded to the maids and took Arya with him to find Robb, so he could bring his sister to the Great Sept. Ned, being the Royal bride’s father, had to ride with her in a separate cart.

Arya was pouting and trying to tear off some of the ribbons from the sleeves. 

“Don’t,” Ned shook his head. Arya screwed her lips, but at least stopped her actions, eyeing pretty ribbons with the sheer hatred.

Robb was already waiting for them, a wide smile appearing on his face as soon as he saw Arya.

“What a _ beautiful lady sister _ I have here,” he grinned, hugging Arya, who grumbled something unrecognisable in a weak protest.

“Please, keep an eye on her,” Ned sighed, patting Arya’s shoulder. 

“Fine,” Robb nodded. “I’ve already spoken to Lord Robert, we will join him and Lord Stannis on our way to the Great Sept. Oh, and the King too.”

“Good,” Ned felt a little relief. At least together with Robert and the Hand his daughter will have to behave herself. “And I will go and fetch Sansa. She should be ready soon.”

“Give her our warmest hugs,” Robb smiled. Arya rolled her eyes up.

“I will,” Ned nodded and turned on his heels, heading in the direction of Sansa’s chamber.

He knocked on the door when he was there, but a fussy maid shouted that Lady Sansa wasn’t ready yet. Ned apologised with a sigh and started to roam the narrow hall.

It was so strange. His daughter was getting ready for her wedding behind that wooden door, and Ned had no idea what to think about it. He wasn’t happy that she was about to marry another man, about to become the Queen, but it was the only way in the situation all of them dragged themselves into. In the name of the Old Gods, why did she have to spend that night with Clegane? Her reputation was ruined, as was her maidenhead, and becoming the Queen was the only option to ensure her future will be lacking the judging stares and filthy words shouted at her back.

Ned had no idea who spread the rumours in the Red Keep about Sansa and Clegane, but he wanted to choke to death that bastard with his bare hands.

He had spent his every single free minute with Sansa during the last couple of days, talking to her and trying to assure her that her marriage won’t be too bad. To be honest, Ned didn’t know if he was trying to assure Sansa or himself. After all, his daughter too the news of her upcoming wedding without any question. She was calm and even smiled at him, but Ned saw that something was bothering her.

Ned wanted to hope that becoming the Queen will make Sansa feel herself a little bit better.

The wooden door had finally opened and a chambermaid emerged out, saying that Lady Sansa was ready to go to the sept. Ned took a deep breath and walked inside.

“Father!” Sansa turned to face him, and Ned realised he was at a loss for words.

Sansa was standing in front of him in the most beautiful dress Ned ever saw, and he had attended a huge number of different feasts and tourneys. Even Catelyn’s wedding dress wasn’t as gorgeous as their daughter’s one, and Ned thought his wife to be the most beautiful bride in the whole Westeros.

The seamstresses Clegane had found for his future wife made a terrific job, picking the colours and materials which suited Sansa the most. Her wedding gown was made from the lightest silk and atlas, the grey Stark colour mixed with the blue one to match Sansa’s eyes. Ned spotted some golden embroidery at the border of her gown, which had to symbolise the yellow colour of House Clegane, and felt his mouth twitch.

“You look beautiful, Sansa,” he said instead, and she smiled, reaching her hands out and embracing him. When she was moving, the material of her gown made her look as if she was flying like the lightest feather, and Ned closed his eyes, feeling his daughter in his arms like this for the last time.

Soon enough, she won’t be his little daughter anymore. She will be a woman married, but most importantly, she will be the Queen. His beautiful, delicate daughter will be the Queen of the whole Westeros.

Unbelievable.

“Happy nameday,” he whispered into her ear, and Sansa giggled.

“Thank you,” she answered with a shy smile when they finally broke their embrace. Her cheeks were flushed, and Ned realised that her eyes were smiling too. For the last couple of days they were full of a strange worry, but now something has changed in her. As if that bothering thought had finally left her be and vanished. 

“Are you ready to go?” Ned asked, taking a step to the side and taking her maiden’s cloak which was prepared by Sansa’s maids. It was a fine work too, a light and delicate cloak, just like Sansa herself, embroidered with their family sigil. There was a pattern of snowflakes and weirwood leaves placed along the borders of the cloak, and Ned shook his head.

It was the perfect cloak for the young northern bride, and when he fastened it at her shoulders, clasping it with a heavy brooch in the shape of a bird - to be honest, Ned had no idea why exactly _this _brooch was prepared for Sansa, - he eyed his daughter head to toe and sighed, feeling a sincere smile appearing on his lips.

She looked like the most beautiful young northern bride, her hair styled in a proper northern fashion and her smile so shy and somehow happy. Catelyn would be so glad to see Sansa like that, he thought. Too bad his dearest wife was far away in the North.

“I’m ready,” Sansa said. She looked calm and determined, but when Ned took her hand in his he realised she was trembling a little bit. He had no idea why, but he wanted to hope it was just a mere bridal nervousness, and not fear.

He didn’t want his sweet daughter to be afraid on the day of her wedding.

Sansa didn’t say a word during their ride, but at some point Ned noticed that a small smile was playing on her lips, as if she was truly excited for her wedding. In his opinion, there was nothing to be excited about, but Sansa decided to embrace the sudden turn of the events in her life and accept her marriage. Ned sighed, eyeing Sansa with an unhidden sadness.

His dutiful and soft daughter was a person someone like Clegane didn’t deserve. That Ned knew for sure.

When they arrived at the Great Sept, there was a crowd waiting for their future Queen. Ned got out of the cart and offered his hand to Sansa to help her, and her fingers were trembling again. But she was smiling and her cheeks were blushing, she was nervous but not afraid. It was a good sign.

“Are you ready?” he asked her again, and Sansa nodded with a smile she was trying so hard to hide from everyone. Now it looked like a smile of happiness, and it was confusing Ned way more than any other action of his eldest daughter.

Sansa latched on to his arm and Ned helped her to mount the stone steps of the Sept. He heard the crowd cheering, and at some point cast a glance in the direction of Sansa out of the corner of his eye. Her sight was lowered down, her lips still stretched into a tiny smile, and she looked so ethereal in the dress the hard-working seamstresses made for her that someone could mistake her for the Maiden.

Ned felt a warmth appearing in his chest, and he had to turn around and fight a smile which started to appear on his face. He was feeling himself like a proud father, and if it wasn’t for the reason of this wedding he knew he would be truly happy for Sansa. And her almost husband too. But he wasn’t.

Ned sighed and shook his head.

“Don’t worry, father,” Sansa suddenly spoke, turning her head to his side, and Ned realised her eyes were shining in a pure excitement. “I’m sure this marriage will bring us happiness and joy. I know it.”

“Oh, Sansa,” Ned’s smile was full of sadness. He reached out his free hand and squeezed Sansa’s shoulder. “You can’t imagine how much I want your words to become the reality.”

“And they will be real,” she smiled at him, a weak blush covering her cheekbones and ears. “You will see.”

“We will see,” Ned nodded at her words. Sansa was always so fond of beautiful songs and stories where the love was able to win over any troubles and foes. But life wasn’t a song or a fairytale, and Sansa had already learnt about it, but still she was so sure that her married life with Clegane will make her life happy and bright, Ned felt a sting of pain in the place his heart was.

He wanted the ceremony to be over so he could go to the Godswood and pray to the Old Gods to make Sansa’s silly dreams to come true.

When the Sept’s doors had finally opened and he walked Sansa down the aisle, Ned felt his own hands trembling. The huge building was full of people, their eyes locked on his daughter. Ned noticed Robb and Arya in the first line, his daughter completely not impressed with the wedding, and his heir full of pride for his sister. Stannis and Robert were there too, as well as Jorah Mormont and all other members of the Small Council, including Ser Davos, who had arrived in the capital just a night before.

Ned was able to spot so many familiar faces among the crowd, and it was such a shame his wife wasn’t able to witness the wedding of her beloved daughter. Poor Catelyn, Ned had sent a raven to Winterfell as soon as the marriage between Sansa and Clegane was discussed. He wasn’t able to imagine what his wife could feel and think about this situation, but he prayed she won’t take it too hard.

Ned took a deep breath and looked in front of them.

Clegane was there, standing next to the High Septon and looking too nervous for a bastard he was. When Ned brought Sansa to him, he saw that the King gulped and tried to hide his shaking hands. In Ned’s opinion, there was no reason for him to be so nervous, but he had no idea what was happening in the mind of Sandor Clegane.

He unclasped the brooch on Sansa’s cloak and took it off.

“Thank you, father,” she whispered, her smile sincere. Ned wanted to hug her so much, to cuddle her to himself, to protect from any enemy, was it the King himself or not. But he just squeezed her hands and placed a quick peck on her cheek. 

And then he made a step aside, knowing there was no turning back. He watched Clegane to take his cloak and put it over Sansa’s shoulders. His hands were trembling when he clasped his brooch, but suddenly Sansa gave him a shy, but reassuring smile full of something Ned was afraid to name. The King calmed down a little bit, taking her hand in his and locking his fingers with hers straight away.

His daughter now belonged to another man.

Ned sighed and joined his family and friends in the first line, his fingers latching on to Sansa’s maiden cloak. He watched the rest of the ceremony with a sad smile, not wanting to think of any not so happy outcomes this marriage could bring to his daughter.

“Now I understand,” Robb suddenly mumbled next to his ear.

“What?” Ned frowned, turning his head to his son’s side, so he could avoid watching Sansa _kissing _the man next to her.

“The reason why His Grace was so worried for Sansa before,” Robb chuckled and started to clap with the rest of the crowd.

Ned knew there was something, a tiny little thought which was slipping away and not allowing him to understand the clear picture of the whole situation, but he hunted it away.

He would think about it later.

  
  


***

  
  


It was almost like in the fairytale she liked to read in her childhood. Maybe even better. The wedding, the feast, everything - until some drunken lord called for the bedding. Sansa felt her body suddenly tensing and the blush on her cheeks fading away. She knew that any wedding feast would end with that strange custom, she even prepared herself for it, but suddenly she felt a sheer fear.

She didn’t want it. She didn’t want to be dragged away by drunken men, who would try to undress her and touch her body. She didn’t want to be humiliated like that in front of the dozens of spectators. She didn’t want it, but right before her body could betray her and start to shake, Sandor had covered her hand with his huge palm and gave her a reassuring squeeze.

“My wife if a northern lady,” he rasped loudly, making the people around to calm down and look at him with an unhidden curiosity. “As this custom isn’t familiar in the place where she came from, we won’t have a bedding ceremony. That’s it.”

Sansa felt a rush of relief, and Sandor squeezed her hand again, the corner of his mouth twitched into a smile.

“Thank you,” she whispered, leaning to his side and feeling her body to relax. She was still a little bit nervous about what would happen later on, when she and Sandor will finally leave to their now shared room, but now she just smiled at him and it was the most natural thing to do.

“I hate the bedding ceremony anyway,” Sandor whispered back and snorted. 

Out of the corner of her eye, Sansa noticed her father eyeing her husband with an unreadable expression on his face. She knew he wasn’t happy about the wedding and was always so tense when being next to Sandor, but now something new appeared in his eyes. Sansa wanted to hope it was a respect, even if the tiniest one.

They had more drinks and Sansa ate another one lemon cake, and only after that Sandor finally announced it was time for them to leave. Some lords, still sour that the bedding ceremony was cancelled, tried to call for it again, but were quickly shut up by Stannis. The Hand of the King hadn’t drunk even a drop of a wine during the whole afternoon, as if maintaining the peace at the feast was an affair of honour for him.

Her father didn’t like the announcement as well, but Sandor simply put his arm around her shoulder and Sansa leant to his touch. She was nervous and maybe a little bit afraid of the wedding night, that was for sure, but she recalled Sandor’s promise to not let anything or anyone to hurt her and be a good husband for her, and that was enough for Sansa to calm herself down.

Sandor was a little bit tense too, but as soon as they finally emerged out of the Great Hall, she saw his shoulders to relax straight away.

“I can’t believe the feast is over for us,” he mumbled, squeezing her shoulder. His hand was trembling again, apparently, he was nervous again, the same as during their wedding at the Great Sept, and Sansa decided it was rather sweet. To know that a strong and formidable man like Sandor Clegane could be nervous when it was about her gave Sansa some strange assurance that everything will go well.

She leaned to him, her hand resting on his waist.

“It will be alright,” she told him, and Sandor’s mouth twitched in a shy smile.

It was a sweet, and Sansa decided she liked these smiles of her _husband _very much.

They finally reached their bedroom and Sandor barred the door when they were inside. The chambermaids had already prepared a warm bed and lit the fire. Sansa slowly went to sit on the edge of the bed, a hot wave of shame rushing through her body. She locked her fingers on her knees and lowered her gaze, thanking the Gods that there weren’t enough candles to let Sandor see her flushed cheeks from the side of the room he was standing.

She heard his heavy steps and shivered in nervousness and something else, something which was similar to the anticipation. She saw her _lord husband _stopping in front of her, but he didn’t do anything she could expect from a man on his wedding night.

“Sansa,” he said in a low voice, and she abruptly tilted her head, looking him straight in the eyes. The first thing she saw there was nervousness, but there were tiredness and a strange _tenderness _in his sight too, and Sansa decided it wasn’t time for her to feel afraid or uncomfortable.

She reached out her hand, and Sandor did the same, catching her little palm in his and squeezing it.

“Tell me what to do,” she whispered, feeling his thumb starting to caress the skin on her hand.

Sandor leaned forward, and Sansa was expecting him to kiss her, so she lowered her eyelids, looking at him through her lashes. She liked it when he kissed her back in the Great Sept. It was just a mere soft caress, but Sansa felt her stomach becoming light, as if it was full of beautiful butterflies. The songs she liked in the childhood were saying it was a good sign, and Sansa decided to trust them.

And now she wanted Sandor to kiss her again, but instead he suddenly pressed his lips to her temple and crouched down in front of her.

“Go to sleep, Sansa,” he said, still caressing her hand. “It was a long day for both of us, right?”

“But we need to consummate our marriage…” she started to mumble, somehow feeling herself disappointed with the sudden turn of events.

“I know,” Sandor cut her off. “But don’t worry. Nobody will know we simply went to sleep. I mean, I think you already know that faking a maiden blood is quite an easy thing. And besides, your father had _begged _me to cut my finger and squeeze the blood on the sheets, so I can’t disappoint him, you know.”

“B-but why?” Sansa knew she didn’t have to be as scandalised by Sandor’s words as she was, but she needed to know the reason.

“I think it’s too early for us to do anything like that,” Sandor sighed, looking her straight in the eyes. “You’re still quite a young lady, even though you’re the _ Queen _now. And well, I know that we are now bonded as a husband and a wife, but I think it will be better for us to get to know each other a little bit more - more than just two friends, right?”

“R-right,” Sansa answered, her heartbeat speeding up a little bit. 

It was so strange. She was always told that any husband has his rights to claim their wife as soon as they wanted, and there was no way a good wife could refuse her husband in their marriage bed, no matter how she felt about them. But Sandor, he wasn’t an _any _husband. He was so understanding and so sympathetic, and he cared about Sansa’s feelings, which wasn’t unexpecting, but still, Sansa was able to feel the tight ball of warmth forming in her chest.

She smiled at him, trying to show her gratitude through her expression, and he answered her with a similar smile, just a little bit shyer. Maybe he was nervous about his husbandly duties as well, Sansa thought, touching his arm and similarly caressing him.

When they got themselves ready for the sleep and Sandor had helped her to unlace her beautiful dress (his fingers were trembling again when he was touching the delicate laces and ribbons), they were finally lying down in their bed, Sandor’s arm familiarly wrapped around her shoulders. He was touching her, but there still was a small distance between them, as if both he and Sansa were afraid to cross it. Sansa liked to feel him next to her, his huge warm body was giving her strange comfort she never felt before - probably it was something only a married lady was able to understand.

“Sandor?” she whispered, trying not to allow her heavy eyelids to fall and drag her into a deep sleep.

“What is it?” he mumbled, turning on his side and moving a little bit closer to her. His voice was sleepy, Sansa knew it was a difficult day for him too, but she just wasn’t able to fall asleep before getting what she robbed of earlier.

“Can you k-kiss me?” she said in a weak voice, suddenly feeling herself afraid. “_ Please _?”

She was sure that the sleepy sound Sandor made was something between a snort and a chuckle, and she was ready to pout at him, but then he moved again and his soft lips touched hers one, and Sansa squeaked in a surprise.

It was just an innocent caress, but it lasted way longer than their kiss during the wedding ceremony. Sandor’s lips were dry and warm, and Sansa thought they were trembling a little bit, just like hers. She wanted to squeak again, but then Sandor broke their kiss and mumbled something about the sleep she needed _right now_.

Sansa nodded, making herself comfortable next to him, and as soon as she finally closed her eyes she fell asleep, a happy and satisfied smile still playing on her lips.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> f i n a l l y - - 
> 
> (still, no _proper_ sansan here... oops...)


	20. In which Catelyn Makes an Important Decision

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, are you ready for a suddenly SHORT chapter? :')  
This is some sort of a connection between two different parts of the plot. I mean, we've already got a premise for actions and THE ROYAL WEDDING. And now the second 'part' of the story begins.  
(note, second doesn't mean the last one c':)

Catelyn sighed and put away the letter. Ned didn’t write too much and Catelyn was faced with the fact that her poor and sweet Sansa was now married to the King.

She felt herself… _ surprised_. Catelyn even feared for a second if she was truly a good mother for Sansa. She knew that a proper mother would be sad for the sudden changes in her daughter’s life. Or that she would shed a tear, mourning the fate of her beautiful child. But Catelyn didn’t feel any of those emotions, and it was strange.

She hoped she felt herself like that because she was shocked.

But still. First of all, Catelyn was glad that Sansa didn’t have to marry Robert’s heir. She had never been a supporter of that betrothal, and Ned knew her position very well - but still was confident that their house had to join the Baratheons in marriage between Sansa and that Joffrey. So yes, the unexpected call off of the unwanted betrothal was a good thing.

Besides, Sansa was now married to the _ King_. She didn’t know much about Sandor Clegane, but somehow she felt he wasn’t the worst option for her daughter. Maybe he wasn’t the handsome and the most gallant knight in the whole Westeros, but he was the _ King_.

And Catelyn was sure that under his scarred face and stubborn character he had a good heart.

She met him only once, when the newly crowned King Kastor was visiting Winterfell with his heir. Catelyn wasn’t sure how old Sandor Clegane was back then, probably five and ten, or something like that, but he was tall, had long hair and looked grumpy for a boy who learnt that one day he was going to be the King.

He was following his father during the official reception at the Keep. Back then Catelyn wasn’t feeling too well, she had two young boys to take care of and was pregnant with Sansa. She was tired, and at some point she excused herself during the feast. After all, Robb and Jon had to be put in their beds already.

It wasn’t something a Lady of Winterfell would do, especially during the Royal visit, but Catelyn insisted on disappearing from the Great Hall for a while.

She needed to get some fresh air.

After Robb and Jon received their goodnight songs and kisses and were left in their chamber, Catelyn decided to take a short stroll in the garden. It was the peak of summer, and the flower scent was lifting her spirit. She didn’t even feel nauseous while being among them, and so Catelyn was sure she was expecting a daughter.

It was already dark outside, though the summer nights in the North were short and warm. Catelyn was sure she had to be the only person in the garden at that time, but to her surprise, she almost bumped into the crown prince.

Apparently, Sandor Clegane had somehow escaped the feast too. Catelyn had heard from her husband that the boy wasn’t too eager of being named the prince and was refusing acting like the one. He would snap back at any advice from Ned or Stannis, he would ignore the rules and courtesies, he would miss the important meetings and gatherings at court. Ned thought that Sandor Clegane was too stubborn and harsh to become the next King of Westeros.

Catelyn thought he was just a lost boy, who had suddenly gotten an unfamiliar and unwelcomed burden on his shoulders.

And back then, sitting in the garden and playing with a stray cat Catelyn had spotted near the kitchens some days ago, he didn’t look like the person from Ned’s stories. The sharp features of his face had softened and there was a tiny shadow of a smile on his lips, which made his scars look less awful.

Later that night, Catelyn whispered to her husband that her _woman’s wit _was telling her that Sandor Clegane could become a worthy man and king. He just needed some guidance, and, luckily, Ned had listened to her words. Of course, he was still complaining about the young prince’s behaviour and stubbornness from time to time, but in the end, Sandor Clegane had earned her husband’s respect.

That’s why the last sentence of Ned’s letter didn’t make any sense for Catelyn.

_ I’m sorry_, he wrote in a shabby handwriting, and Catelyn was truly puzzled. She knew that Sandor Clegane grew up into a strong man with a clear mind. Maybe he wasn’t acting like the _knight _her daughter liked so much, but Catelyn was sure that the King could become a good husband for her sweet Sansa. Of course, there were all those rumours about Clegane and the women around him, but Catelyn wasn’t sure if even the three-fourths of them were real. She knew very well how noble ladies liked to invent different sorts of gossips when they were bored or wanted to impress their companions.

Was Ned sorry that he had to wed Sansa to the King without her opinion? All those songs their daughter liked so much were full of stories were two lovers were able to find their true love, and of course she would be happier marrying someone she could choose herself. But the real life wasn’t a song, and besides, she was already betrothed to someone Ned picked for her without hearing Sansa’s opinion. So that option was off the table.

Catelyn felt a dull pain gathering in her temples. The whole situation was so strange that she, a woman who was always calmed down and thought with her head clear, didn’t have a clue about the matter.

Catelyn rubbed her temples and decided she didn’t understand two things. The way Ned wrote his letter and the sudden urgency of the wedding.

She took the scroll and re-read the letter, feeling that a sheer surprise inside her head was turning into a suspicion. Something was very odd, and Catelyn didn’t like that. She preferred to know everything about her children, _ especially _if it was something important. Like their health, or their well-being, or their _sudden wedding_.

Ned wasn’t a man who liked to write long letters, but this was more a note than a letter. He decided not to put the truth about the sudden turn of events on the paper, which meant something very important had happened. Something very important and, probably, not so pleasant.

Catelyn closed her eyes and prayed to the Seven to guide her.

When she emerged out of her solar, she had a proper plan.

It was a good thing that Jon was in Winterfell, she decided, walking to the maester’s turret. He and maester Luwin could look after Bran and Rickon while she will be away. She could take the ship from White Harbor and be in the capital in a fortnight. She will send Robb back to Winterfell and will get her chance to talk to Ned and Sansa about the whole situation. As well as give Arya a scolding about her behaviour. And then she and Arya, and maybe even Ned, would come back to Winterfell.

Yes, it was the perfect plan. 

  
And Catelyn was sure that Lord Manderly will be able to provide the best and fastest ship not just for the Lady of Winterfell, but for the _ Queen’s mother_.


End file.
